Sigma Mercenaries 001: Initial Public Offering
by CSS.Stravag
Summary: Sigma Mercenaries Chronicles, Founding Story. When an interdimensional 'Jumper Train' lands in the backyard of a Kentucky gun aficionado, and the residents of the train come out looking for a fight, the Kentucky resident decides they need the fight brought to them. This train gets bloody fast... (Multi-crossover, combat-centric, WARNING: RATED M FOR STRONG CONTENT AND MERCENARIES!)
1. Express Train To Insanity

(Sigma Mercenaries, Story 0001: Initial Public Offering)

Over the years, I have drawn in a lot of disparate elements into my fanfic writing. Not unexpected, of course, given the nature of my writing being dimension hopping multi-crossover. It can make for some confusing plotlines and elements, but I try to keep everything cohesive. Of course, I can always kick everything up a notch. Crossovers, random results, the whole nine yards. Given enough time and effort, I can even mash things into a cohesive storyline.

Enter the Sigma Mercenaries. Or, technically, what shall become the Sigma Mercenaries.

This storyline started for me back in 2000, as part of a weird-ass dream of mine. It involved a guy, on a train, with all manner of weird shit going on around the train. The major details of that dream came to be the core of what I would design as an open ended role playing game that I constantly ran against myself to see how far I could go before things collapsed of their own inertia. It started with some dice, a couple handwritten results tables, and a database I wrote in Microsoft Works 6.5 DB. After enough refining and campaigning, the game became too cumbersome to run in an effective fashion when the amount of real-world time to complete a game day's action exceeded 24 man-hours. Some of this I cut down with the use of prodigious VB6 programming skills, but that only extended the length a campaign would run before it hit the holy grail of 1:1 time expenditure.

After about 2008, I buried the Sigma campaign mainly because I could no longer expend the time to try to master it and/or code it into a completely automated user interface. Around 2010, I resurrected my old campaign notes for a brief cameo in The Inferno That Is Chicago, mainly because I needed some extra mercs to throw in as ride-alongs for the Jokers Wild group. With that small foray, I knew it was time to put some solid numbers and history to the merc unit that has existed in several dozen iterations of an old RPG that I just threw shit into willy-nilly and still somehow managed to make sense of it all.

It would not be until this year, 2014, that I knew time was ready to begin writing about the backwater American enigma that would shake the world of interdimensional mercenaries. With everything finalized that I want included, it is time for the shit and the fan to collide gloriously. It will be messy. Trust me.

This is the ultimate expression of my random results systems: everything you see here, every event that happens, every nuance I write in, is all randomly generated with a combination of programs I have written myself or tasked to the purpose at hand. The only thing I directly control in this work is the Main Character; everything else is written on the results of dice at one level or the next. This is full-bore realism meeting every bit of science fiction, fantasy, and kitchen sink fantasy I feel like throwing in. It stars a regular guy whose name is famous from other stories yet to be written, just trying to do the right thing. And make a buck while he's at it.

Brace yourselves, ye who read past this content warning below. In this story, I shall pull no punches whatsoever.

-x-x-x- CONTENT WARNINGS -x-x-x-

This story will contain a lot of original concepts and interpretations of my other works, as well as historical or established fictional material. This is a multicrossover as well as a setting fusion and even has Alternate Universe tendencies depending on the flow of story. Expect things can and will change from one dimensional parallel iteration to the next.

The primary governments in this story are either historical (ancient civilizations), extant (United States, Russia, similar), or hail from my other stories (Lunar Star League / House Serenity). Matters will be covered in story or explained as necessary in footnotes or special data sections.

Events, encounters, people, and locations will be randomized in this story, excepting where established by fiction or history. Terrain on the homeworld will be randomized to certain degrees, as will population centers, extant 'governments' (term is used loosely in most cases) and military facilities (What survived the dissolution of organized control). All contract offerings are generated from random selection tables fed into a custom-written program for the purpose. No kittens were or shall be harmed in the preparation of such random events. SUGGESTIONS ARE WELCOMED, ESPECIALLY FOR CAMPAIGN CONTRACTS.

_GENERAL DISCLAIMER_: I own no rights to any included material from any other stories. I intend no offense in such use.

_VIOLENCE WARNING_: It is the root of all warfare, for without violence there is no war. Otherwise, it is called 'negotiations', follow? And even I cannot imagine a good military drama with only negotiating, such would be less entertaining than watching paint dry.

_OC WARNING_: This story is OC-centric, and not in the typical fashion. The story is driven mostly by random-generated persons, but you will see a lot of historical and fictional characters come and go during the works to come.

_BAAAAAD LANGUAGE WARNING_: This story revolves around a Kentucky hardass and the various people he meets in a really crapsack world. Expect foul language; there shall be militia, slaves, soldiers, and general dregs, after all. Also expect a shit-ton of suggestiveness, crazy situations, interpretiveness, analysis, and lots and lots of violence. You have been warned.

_DICE WARNING_: Events in this story will be controlled by the dice, and are concrete, true-random results provided by number generation services. These results will change events dynamically and/or modify established plans. After all, there is no mistress more cruel than fate.

_POLITICAL WARNING_: Political concepts and methods may be presented in this story that may conflict with established 'norms'. This is deliberate on the part of the author, to show different and rather sharp viewpoints on these subjects. The views expressed potentially match the views of the author, though are not to be considered holy writ. IF YOU THINK I AM BEING OFFENSIVE, LIGHTEN UP FRANCIS. Or, alternately, if your Political Correctness filter becomes overclogged with cold, hard reality, you are always welcome to find something else to read.

_ANTI-POLITICAL CORRECTNESS WARNING_: In case you missed the last line of the above warning, AT NO TIME will this story be politically correct. Real life is not politically correct, much less 'nice' in some definitions of the word. If you take issue with this, I recommend finding another read.

_MATURE CONTENT WARNING_: This story contains gratuitous references to violence, some nudity, and extensive use of situations that will be considered controversial. This is deliberately part of the narrative, because this is written random and as close to reality as possible. And the real world, last time I checked, is not a nice place.

FINAL WARNING

This story is RATED 'M' for MERCENARIES, 'MERICANS, and MUCH BLOODSHED!

May the action commence!

(Sigma Mercenaries, Story 0001: Initial Public Offering)  
(Chapter 01: Express Train to Insanity)

(5 June 2015, 0505 Hours EST (UTC-5))  
(Rural Kentucky, United States)

" 'Do you wonder what it's like, living in a permanent imagination / Sleeping to escape reality, but you like it like that,' " the large guy in the room chanted along with his computer, playing through an old Orgy song (_Dreams in Digital_) while he waited for the local news program to cycle through to the weather. Not that the during-the-day environmental conditions normally mattered to him, but the long drive to or from work (over an hour) did make a significant difference.

Rural Kentucky. Close enough to the minor city Lexington to make commuting practical, not close enough to suffer the proper 'urban' experience, or even that of the suburbs. 1 hour on the road to work, 9 hours on duty (give or take), one hour home commute. It put him out of the on-call arrangement for work, since commute times would exceed the SLA (1) for the subordinate companies, but the job paid well and they didn't really want him on-call anyway. With a day job of roaming around an office complex, fixing computers and executing information technology products, there was nothing exciting in his normal daytime affairs.

It was the evening and weekends that kept the otherwise-boring office worker Erich Hess from sliding completely into societal 'unperson' status. During the evening hours, the office worker hung up the IT skills and turned his hands to a combination of techno music and gunsmithing. One evening, he'd turn out a couple hundred rounds of handloaded ammo, the next evening he'd break down and install a lower parts kit on an AR-15 for a coworker. On the weekends, Hess would join a couple buddies at a random rifle range and do firearm competitions, drills, general shoots, anything of that nature. More often than not, those shoot meets involved an off-duty Sheriff Deputy and occasionally the Sheriff himself, and Hess definitely got along well with the country Sheriffs. It might not work well for normal social concerns, but said office worker had long eschewed 'normal' company. Normal people gave rise to the bulk of deep-end dropoff crazies, and had a bad habit of being assholes to 'geeks' when not full-blown sociopaths. 'Fringe lunatics' and 'Right-wing Crazies' and 'Preppers' by the numbers had the lowest incidence of psychopaths and degenerates and usually had better manners on average than common urbanites, which is where Hess preferred to be. Best to avoid the problem entirely and thus avoid strife, or so he figured.

" 'Guilty by desire, she's nothing more than fic—' " Hess was interrupted by the sound of a significant impact in the area, a large amount of metal striking something that sounded of being in his backyard. "Hell is that sound?" Erich asked after he began hearing some kind of electro-mechanical whirring sound.

Truth be told, Hess had a bad habit of having firearms everywhere in the house, thus he would never have to go far in case he needed defensive firepower. If the threat was small, one gun generally would be expected to do the job. If the threat was heavier, one gun could lead to another, which could lead to another, which could lead to his heavy defensive armaments and tactical gear. If a threat required more firepower than that to neutralize, a cell phone could always summon backup. Any one of his neighbors would willingly provide fire support, much as he would provide to them.

Hess reached into the drawer under his computer tower and drew out a clip-on holster with a .357 Magnum revolver. The Ruger GP100 6" barrel was his personal 'tack driver' revolver, which he routinely used to dump six rounds into the same hole at common combat distances. Such precision came with the unstated expectation of the power of the first Magnum round on the commercial market — loaded right, .357 was a reliable one-shot-one-kill cartridge in competent hands.

Partway through strapping on his holster and a separate holster for a pair of speed reloaders, his cell phone rang. After the second pattern, the caller ID function declared it to be his next-door neighbor. "I take it that woke you up as well, mister Kall?"

"Holy shit did it ever, and you won't believe this in a damn New York minute, son," Jefferson Kall said in an excited voice. "There is a four-car train on top of what used to be your garden, son. You should be able to see it out your west windows."

"Uhmm, okay?" Hess groused in shock, effectively proving Mister Kall correct by disbelieving that a train had somehow dropped on his garden. Once he moved to and used his cell phone to brush aside the curtains on one of his western windows, he had plenty of cause to believe the old neighbor. "Well, that's good."

"Yeah, and I was looking forward to some of those pumpkins you grow. I'd say the caboose put paid to them real fast."

"Hey, Jefferson, door's opening on the back. Can you see anything from where you're at?" Hess asked.

"Got a scope on it… and… whoa, them's some titties," the old guy said. True to his appraisal, Hess could see the lady in question, completely lacking shirt or bra, briefly as she was backlit by the interior lighting of the caboose. She also wasn't alone.

"I see 'em," Hess said neutrally. "Three, four, five ladies running, with maybe three full sets of clothes between the five."

"And there's the big daddy pimp — gun! Shotgun!" The pimp in question aimed out the rear door of the caboose, fired one round, fired a second at the fleeing girls, then turned his gun on the second story of Kall's house. "Shit!" Jefferson shouted before the tango (threat) fired four more shells into the window that Jefferson was probably at.

"Jefferson! Jefferson Kall! Can you hear me?" Hess shouted into his phone.

"Damn birdshot," Jefferson said. "My scope is ruined and I've taken several pellets. Can you suppress?"

"Standby," Hess pulled open the window, braced his revolver against the sash, and proceeded to dump all six rounds into the door area of the train caboose. Two rounds he knew missed — one window broke and one sparked off the metal frame of the door. The other four at least entered the caboose at 40 yards distance, and he thought one of them may have struck an arm. By the time the sixth shot was loosed, Jefferson was back on his rifle and fired seven or eight rounds into the doorway to continue the suppression.

"Hess! Hess, can you hear me?" Mister Kall asked over the cell.

"I hear you," Hess answered. "I'm going to enter and capture that sonuvabitch, Jefferson. The last thing any of us need is an accusation of building-to-building gunfire against each other. What is your status?"

"Took about a dozen pellets. Wife has the EMTs on the phone. Looks like he got two of the runners, maybe wounded a third. Listen, if you're crazy ass is going in there, you be damn careful and come out alive, how copy?" Jefferson lapsed back to his army radio protocol momentarily.

"Good copy, old fart," Hess said with reverence. "I'm going to gear up now. Keep an eye on that door, make sure nothing else hostile comes out."

-x-

(10 minutes later)

Gearing up for the forced entry of a four-car train was no simple task, even if it seemed like a pathetically short and simple operations concept. After all, the maximum occupancy of a four-car train could not really exceed 100 persons comfortably, but Erich still carried a full gearset and an extra rifle with ammo bag for it. Sometimes, he who brought the most lead to the battle tended to win the war, and Hess had no intention of losing. For just that purpose, Hess had pre-cached a backpack with MREs, water, and battle packs of ammo for his common four-gun setup, allowing him to carry in his combat load plus extra munitions in case needed. On the way out the door, the last things he put on was safety glasses; nothing could ruin a day faster than dust or debris in the eye.

Outside the house, Hess took a moment to brace his 'drop' rifle to the ground and fix the bayonet, an old Enfield Number 4 Mark 1 with the classic knife-blade bayonet. Given he was going into close quarters, the possibility of a hand-to-hand fight was significant, and those few inches of steel on top of a rifle could make an easy bit of difference...or not.

"Hess! Still clear on the rear!" Jefferson Kall shouted from the second-story window of his house. "Paramedics just crossed the bridge on Old Samford, they'll be here in about ninety seconds!"

"So I heard," Hess groused. He had always had a sensitivity to high-pitch noises that most people could not hear, and emergency sirens were one of the nastier ones. After a few seconds, Erich broke out a pair of noise-cancelling electronic earmuffs and put them on, then switched on the electronics that allowed him to hear around him but cancelled out the nastier noises (including sirens).

While the medics finished their approach ride, Hess moved to the bodies of the fallen. The first one was down, dead, as he could easily recognize where the buckshot pellets had punched through her upper back and neck. From a distance, though, the second one did not appear to have taken a lethal hit — she had multiple birdshot strikes on her legs and buttocks, but nothing high enough to constitute lethal.

Once the Kentucky computer tech approached, the fallen lady (this one with a full set of clothes) quickly flipped herself from face-down to face up. Where her right arm had been under her moments prior, it was now up, out, and had a nasty-looking blade in hand, aimed at Hess and specifically at the end of his Enfield rifle. "Don't — I'll kill — wait! You're a soldier?" She asked after two slashes against the end of his bayonet. Apparently, she had been coiled to strike without checking to see who was approaching. "I have never seen that kind of gear! Who are you?" She asked in almost-perfect English.

"Kentucky Tea Party," Hess answered coldly. "Mind putting that knife away, honey?"

"Oh, certainly," she said. "Did — oh shit, he got one of the girls!" She half-moaned after she saw the body that was between herself and the caboose. "Were you able to drop him?"

"Wounded," Hess answered. "I was preparing to go in and find him, drag his body out here for the Sheriff to catalog."

"Don't worry about him, sex slavers are a coin a dozen. Find their girls and get them out, but if you run across the slavers, pop them."

"Wait, let me get this shit straight," Hess said over the approaching sirens. He took a knee and braced the rifle against his shoulder, now convinced that the lady was not a threat party, she was just reacting. "You are saying that four-car hellwagon is a sex slave abduction train, and there are more ladies inside that need extraction?"

"It's a lucrative business. Those trains drop back to routine locations from time to time, and those locations pay well for exotic girls and fresh meat," she answered. "Not everyone on these trains is so involved, but many."

"Hess, where are the wounded?" one of the approaching medics asked.

"One here, one in Kall's house! Birdshot wounds from 50 yards," the comp-tech-turned-rump-infantryman told the medics. "Anything I need to know before I enter and clear?" Hess asked the lady.

"Yeah — " She froze up when she caught sight of something nearby the Train. "Another one!"

Hess looked in the same direction, and had only one reaction. "DOWN!" he shouted even while his rifle came up to braced kneeling fire position. His thumb went to the lever safety to pull it down, though Jefferson had the first shot of the firefight, a plunging rifle shot into the front tango who carried a rocket launcher. The LAWS rocket never fired, it simply fell over the rail to the ground before Hess fired his first-ever rifle shot in anger. Where Mister Kall had injured, Hess' dead-center Enfield shot immediately cored out the suspect's heart and dropped him hard to the ground.

Just as he practiced, the hand went up to the Enfield bolt, brought the lever up while the rifle angled down, then the bolt came back. A single brass case was pulled and ejected from the rifle; with a forceful shove, Hess rammed the bolt forward and rotated it down while the rifle came back up into his shoulder. Sight acquisition was relatively automatic to the Kentuckian, especially against a backlit target such as the next guy that had stepped forward of the three in the train.

Subconsciously, Hess recognized the silhouette of the enemy weapon as an Intratec TEC-9 machine pistol. Erich even had the dubious luxury of seeing five, six rounds fired from it before he could confirm a clear shot and take it. The single heavy rifle round from the Enfield did not miss his mark, where it struck just below the nose and blitzed into the skull of the enemy without hesitation. The heavy 180-grain round-nose soft point slug mushroomed on the inside of his brain, spreading out its energy through the shooter's brain as the slug continued toward the back of his head. The hunk of lead and copper was still moving over 1100 FPS by the time it reached the back of his skull just above the spine, so it continued through the bone and passed onward into the caboose car.

Jefferson picked up where Erich left off, the third guy in the doorway received four rounds of 5.56 XM193 ammo in the chest before he could fire a shotgun out the door. Even with four plunging rounds, though, the guy did not collapse immediately; he did drop the shotgun and tried walking back into the train, but collapsed partway to the #3 car.

"Hallway clear!" Hess shouted, since he could see completely down the hallway to the far door of the caboose.

"Hot damn, Hess, are those some of your custom 3-0-3 Brit loads?" Jefferson asked, able to see the guy with the mostly-cratered head from his vantage point.

"They are, yes," Hess said as he unstepped his rifle and pulled the bolt open. A pouch on the front of his ammo bag had loose rounds for the Enfield, kept ready for those cases where he had not fired a full five-round group and could use a top-off. "Medics forward! Clear this wounded!"

"Jesus H. Christ, Hess! What the hell?" the lead paramedic asked as she approached.

"Get her out of here, I'll cover you and explain in a minute!" Hess fairly ordered. Though regulations said the paramedics should not have approached until the Sheriffs had secured the area, they still cleared the wounded lady by dragging her toward Kall's house where she had a modicum of solid cover. As the Paramedics pulled her to safety, Erich kept close until he was out of the field of fire from the door.

"Okay, buster, I want an explanation, and I want it right now," the lead (female) Paramedic asked the heavily-armed Kentuckian.

"This train in my backyard where no train tracks have ever been, this is where the wounded and dead came from. I was working on learning what it is and why it landed on my garden when the fire-fight happened," a much-hardened Hess answered. He was still looking around the corner on his rifle when another series of sirens approached — this time one of Sheriff's cars and SUVs.

"The train itself is a long story," the wounded lady said. "I'm not concerned about that, though. I'm just a temporary passenger, trying to get the kidnapping victims off the train. I cleared four of the sex slaves, but that one slaver followed me and dropped one of the girls. And me."

"How many more on the train?" Deputy Filkner asked after a moment.

"I don't know, I only got partway into the train before I had to make a move," the wounded lady said. "Big guy," she prompted. "Hess was your name?"

"Is my name, yes," Erich answered.

"We Returners aren't supposed to rescue them violently, part of our commission, but I'm out of action," she said with a couple hisses for the medics pulling birdshot out of her arse. "You're not commissioned, though, and your rifle work is good. Can you take up the mantle?"

"You're asking him to board a known hostile train and clear it?" Deputy Filkner asked in shock.

"I intended to board it anyway," Hess said almost nonchalantly. "Fucker shooting in my general direction needs to be dealt with. Might as well do a double-duty. Stack on me, Deputy,"

"You're fucking crazy, Hess," the Deputy said, but even still he put his left hand on Hess' shoulder and gave it a squeeze, his personal AR-15 aimed to the right of Hess shoulder for cover in that direction.

"We secure the caboose and extract the bodies. This train randomly appeared here, it can randomly disappear and I want the Sheriff to catalog the dead and their weapons," Erich explained. "Jefferson! You still on highground?"

"Watch your ass, young man!" Jefferson's wife shouted.

"Both him and the wife are at the window with AR-15s. God loves the country folk," the Deputy said.

"God favors the prepared," Hess said. "Central hallway cleared," he noted after the two approached the rear of the Caboose. "I'll cover, you grab your evidence camera and start taking pictures. Lots of 'em."

"On it," the deputy said after Hess braced his rifle on the top of the semi-cratered skull of his second kill, with the aimpoint on the door into the train. Deputy Filkner let his rifle hang on the three-point sling and began using his evidence camera to take pictures — lots of them. The pictures included gratuitous shots of the weapons that had been dropped as well as an unused MAK-90 in the caboose. "Jesus, you two dropped these suckers good," the Deputy said after he began focusing on the dead shooters.

"Idiot enemies. Not hard, just threatening. No cover or conceal."

"And you were faster on the trigger. I see the guy with the TEC-9 managed to rattle off a dozen rounds. Move your rifle, please."

"Aye," Hess responded before he pulled the rifle back out of the way so the deputy could take the last pictures.

"Done. Jesus, remind me not to piss you off, if you can do this stone cold while under fire," Deputy Filkner said.

"What do we have, Harvey?" the voice of the county Sheriff asked. "Hess? This was you? And where the hell did you get a train from?"

"Train ain't mine, Sheriff, but I'm about to board and take it," Hess answered. "And I claim two of the three. Jefferson Kall got the third, the one that walked a pace inside before he dropped."

"Dead center chest shot, center head shot, stone-cold sober shooting," the Sheriff said in approval. "Which one of them had the LAWS rocket?"

"First one, sir, the chest shot," Hess answered. "All right, Sheriff, under witness, I am extracting the bodies from the caboose. This train freaking appeared here out of nowhere, it's likely going to disappear shortly, and I want the bodies in your possession as evidence that this shit is real."

"Yeah, this is the kind of muss and fuss that comes out of some weird-ass science fiction novel," Sheriff Hearter answered. "Harvey, turn your video recording option on and video this for evidence purposes. Then start making copies of your data cards. I want several card copies made, including one for that old coot in the window and one for Hess."

"Sir?" Deputy Filkner asked for clarification.

"Just in case, deputy," the Sheriff said. "Someone may try to cover this up."

"Ah, got it, sir." The digital camera he was using had two card slots, which he commonly used to 'dump' picture cards. "Okay, Hess, I am recording."

"Under witness, I now remove the deceased from the train caboose. Sheriff," Hess safed and handed the Sheriff his Enfield rifle.

"Do it," the Sheriff said. Hess tightened down his shooter's gloves, then mounted the lowest step of the caboose's to grab the first of the shooters.

"Second threat engaged, carried a light anti-tank weapons system and appears to have two other pistols on his person. Clear!" Hess heaved him over the short rail at the back-end of the caboose, which caused the Sheriff to have to hop sideways to avoid the falling body. "Third threat engaged, carried a TEC-9 machine pistol. Clear!" Hess heaved this body farther, given it was lighter and he had better grip on the clothes the deceased was wearing. This body went over the rails completely, and landed some yards farther beyond the back of the caboose. "Fourth threat engaged, carried a shotgun that I will be bringing out, and dropped by Jefferson — "

"Hess! Door! DOOR!"

Hess dropped the body unceremoniously and went for his AR-15 carbine that he had left combat slung. Before the door was fully open, he had sights on and the safety off. "Hands! I want to see some hands!" the Kentuckian shouted, unwilling to just preemptively drop the hammer on someone that didn't immediately look threatening.

Thankfully, the front lady complied. "Don't shoot! I'm a Returner! I'm pulling more captives from the train!" The lead lady said.

"Returner? Okay, move it up, but you stay here, Returner," Hess ordered. "Sheriff Hearter, hostages coming out! Ladies, move it up! move it!" Erich had lowered his muzzle but did not release the rifle even after the last lady passed him. "Sheriff, ten out!"

"I got ten, thank you!" the Sheriff said. "Jesus, sex slaves…" his sentence trailed off while the Sheriff escorted the ladies away from the caboose.

Hess closed up on the door and used the bayonet on the end of his AR-15 to push the sliding train door closed. "Returner, how many more in the train?"

"I don't know, I only went 100 cars inside," the Returner lady said.

"Only 100 cars inside? The exterior of the train is only 4 cars long!" Erich bemoaned.

"The center cars of the train are extra-dimensional," the Returner reported. "You see only four cars? That means there are a further 300 cars beyond where I went."

"Good God," Hess groused in shock. "I've got my work cut out for me today." He looked to the caboose rear door. "Sheriff! Hot intel!" he shouted.

"Hearter's out by the ambulances, Hess. What do you need?" Deputy Johnson asked.

"This train is a helluva lot longer than just four cars, at least on the inside. I'm understanding why, but I can't explain right now, it'll take too long. Filkner still out there?"

"I'm here!"

"Bring the camera in here for weapon positions. Clear out the rear, I'm tossing a body!" Hess had loosed his rifle and picked up the dead guy that Jefferson dropped, then tossed the scrawny shotgun-swinger out over the caboose rails.

"Got it!" Johnson shouted.

"Recording, Hess," Filkner warned. "What's up?"

"Get the weapons while I explain. Listen up, this train is a lot more than is visible in our world. The train length is 400 cars per the report of this Returner, which means 396 of those cars are either in compressed space or are portaled to an alternate spatial location somewhere else in Existence. I'll probably get to find out after I clear the train, provided I actually survive that long. Anyway, since I have a helluva lot more train to clear, wish me luck. Don't follow me, this train could jump any time."

"Understood," the Sheriff said, after he entered the main room in the caboose. "Here's your Enfield back. What are you going to do?"

"I'm in this to track down that silly bastard that dropped the running girls outside and shot up a friend. My intention is to bring him out to face the music for shooting up a retreating captive and Jefferson Kall. If I get the chance to rescue anyone else on the way, well, that's the breaks."

"How bad is it going to be going in?" the Sheriff asked the Returner.

"There are gangs throughout the train," she said. "Some of them might be non-hostile to him, some of them might try to shoot him on sight."

"Lovely," Hess said acerbically.

"Reporting for duty, Sheriff — whoa, shit, he really is a Mall Ninja," one of the SRT Operators said.

"Well now, the Tweety Birds are in the house," Hess responded to the indirect catcall from the lead SWAT-jock, referring to their chattiness on Twitter. Hess could get away with the catcalling, and they were more trusting of him than most others, because Hess shot competition with everyone on the Sheriffs team (All were members of the same gun club, and Hess routinely bought or sold weapons and ammo to or from the Deputies).

"Be nice to the Mall Ninja, Sergeant," the Sheriff ordered. "Two of the bodies piled outside are his handiwork, and he has part of a third that ducked back in the train."

"The two with the single-shot gaping holes in their vitals," Hess narrowed down the list of who he dropped.

"You've had a busy morning, big guy. Looks like I may have to revise the Mall Ninja designation," the elder of the two SWAT officers noted. "Where do you want us, sir? Should we start clearing the train?"

"No, hell no, this train is far longer than it looks outside, Sergeant. Hess?" the Sheriff deferred the explanation to the sci-fi guru in the room.

"You're seeing the last two and the first two cars, Deputies. The train itself is 400 cars long, with the remaining 396 either existing in compressed space between cars 2 and 399, or the ends of those said cars are some kind of portal to the rest of the train somewhere else in Existence. Either way, when you pass out of car 399, you're not in normal space-time on this planet. I'm going there because I want the silly bastard that shot up Jefferson Kall — any word from the medics on him?"

"Yeah, they're transporting the old goat to Lexington-Mercy, he took two birdshot in the face and a peppering along his right arm," Deputy Johnson said. "You sure you don't want backup, Hess?"

"Hell yes I want it, but I don't want your families cursing my name for following me into this hellwagon," Hess jerked his thumb at the interior door. "What would your wife say if you didn't come back, Johnson?"

"She'd be pretty pissed at both of us, Hess," the Deputy said. Mike Johnson's wife was a former classmate and friend to Hess, one of the few in his graduating class that he counted so. "What about your mom?"

"Get her a copy of the video take from this, and be sure to tell her that I was chasing down a bastard that shot up one of my friends. I've got a bad feeling about going in here, but I want this matter settled one way or the other. If I make it out, I'll find my way home, eventually."

"Hess, I'm deputizing you for this mission, retroactive to midnight," the Sheriff said before he pulled his own 'star' and pinned it on the left shoulder above a knife sheath. "Tony, give him one of your cuff cases," the Sheriff said after he realized that Hess had a heavy combat load, but no sundries like handcuffs or other restraining devices.

"Roger that," the younger SWAT officer said before he pulled one of the two-pair 'steel bracelet' cases from his own MOLLE vest. "Bring this guy out, and I'll see to it you don't have to pay for a whiskey sour again," Tony said while he was attaching the cuffs to the outside of Hess' general purpose pouch.

"Who knows? Maybe I will be paying for the drinks next we meet," Erich said. "Filkner, got a copy for me?"

"Yeah, here," Deputy Filkner pulled a memory card from his camera and handed it to Hess. The Kentuckian unzipped his pocket pouch and slipped it into one of the pockets for safekeeping. "You watch your ass, Hess. I don't want to tell your mom what went wrong."

"I don't want to force you to tell my family what went wrong," he answered calmly.

"Don't Tread patch, Molon Labe, two American flags, Regular Guy rockers, a Suck Meter, and now a Deputy's Badge. Mixed Message much?" the elder Swat officer asked with a smile.

"Nah, only mixed if you consider me anti-government, which I most certainly am not. Anti-gun grabber stupidity is another story, of course, hence the Molon Labe patch." Hess braced the butt of his Enfield rifle to the ground and presented his hand for a shake with the Sheriff. "I'll bring him out or bring you evidence he didn't make it," Hess said.

"You do that, and I may find you a position on my team," the Sheriff said as he returned the shake. "See you when I see you, big guy."

"One last thing. My lawyer is Rossaline. He has detailed instructions in case I disappear or are slain. If I'm not back in 3 days, or if this train disappears out of here, tell Rossaline that I have disappeared and to initiate plan Full Retainer."

"Full Retainer, got it," the Sheriff answered. "Good luck."

"All right guys, split. If this thing disappears while you're on it, you get to ride along with me by default. Get going," and Erich gestured at the rear door and the klieg lights of press cameras outside and looking in. "Make sure you haul the bodies away from the train, in case this thing hops with a radius grab or something."

"Will do. Good luck!" The Sheriff's personnel grabbed what weapons were in the car from the downed tangos, then escorted the Returner out of the train. Deputy Filkner was the last man out, who closed the rear door of the Caboose to protect Hess from the prying eyes of the Press.

With the closing of the door, Hess was the last person in the Caboose. "I have got to be USDA-choice Grade A fucking crazy to do this," Hess groused. After a moment, he pulled the semi-detachable magazine from his Enfield, verified it had a full ten rounds inside, then rammed it home and gave it a good tap to make sure it locked in place. With his weapons verified ready, he looked to the door inward. "Welcome to America, assholes."

-x-x-x-

Sheriff Hearter ignored the multitude of shouted questions while he approached the ambulance with the other Returner in tow. By now, several mobile crews had arrived from Lexington, and the area was becoming a serious mess of Press and crime scene. "All right, I want a straight answer from you two. You know what he is walking into on that train. Did I just send a lone man into a death trap?"

"No sir, not given the way he fights," the first Returner said. "So long as he doesn't encounter anyone else that boarded the train with his intention, he will easily best any of the gangs on board."

"He certainly went in with enough firepower," the elder SWAT officer noted. "Do you have an estimate on how many tangos he'll face?"

"The rule of thumb is 20 per 50 cars," the second Returner said.. "With 400 in the train, that is — "

"One man against 160? Those are not good odds," the junior SWAT Operator said. "We should have gone in with him."

"He was right to dismiss you," the junior Returner said. "The train should be departing in less than ten minutes. It may never come back here again, but he will have options to return of his own volition, depending on where he eventually lands."

In point of fact, the train horn sounded. "There is your 90 second warning, officers. If you want to join him, you'd best run for it."

"Damnit!" the Sheriff shouted. "I can't in good conscience risk my men like that! God help him, he will need it, the crazy gun nut asshole!"

"I would not pray for a man like that," the second Returner noted. "I would, instead, pray that he achieves his objectives, and achieves the lucky streak of surviving the Jumper Trains." She scoffed for a moment. "I should complain, but I think the only way to make this a permanent solution is to clear the train with a hostile takeover."

"That is against the way," the first Returner said by rote. "But you are right. Simply extracting the hostages does not solve the root problem. The trains have to be cleared."

"Why not just do it right the first time?" the elder SWAT officer asked.

"Because our nation is noninterventionist," the second Returner said. "We are commissioned that we can only use violence to directly protect ourselves, nobody else. The Emirate of Orb takes the policies of nonintervention very seriously, and we are caught paying the price."

"High casualty rates," the first Returner noted. "The birdshot in my arse should explain why."

"Well, if anyone in the county is capable of un-fucking this problem, Hess is pretty high on the list," Deputy Filkner said. The other deputies and the Sheriff nodded their agreement.

"When the Feds show up to investigate, you stay close," the Sheriff said to the SWAT officers. "I want this whole circus under my custody, or the Feds may try burying it — and us — for insert reason here," which was his way of joking about the effective omnipotence of the federal government and how they tended to overuse that power for the least sensical reasons. The Sheriff would never publicly admit it, but he trusted the common people in his county, and especially trusted the small community of preppers in his county (such as Hess), far more than he trusted the federal government.

-x-x-x-

(_**Author's Note**__: Cars on the train are counted from the Caboose forward, with the Caboose being Car 0 (Entry point). You will see why that is when Erich reaches the front of the train._)

CAR 1 (0545) (Luggage)

Hess made entry through the double doors from the Caboose by way of rifle-sweeping the car with his Enfield from the cover of the heavy steel car frame. The most movement he saw from the doorway was a single swinging shirt bag, so he moved forward cautiously; many parts of the luggage car were obscured by piled material and bags of occupants that Hess silently guessed were long dead. The most interesting thing he came across before the next door was a box of shotgun shells, which he took a moment to add to his backpack since they matched his existing shotgun and shells.

CAR 2 (0547) (Luggage)

Hess opened the door to the car by way of tripping the lock using his bayonet, and the door slid open by linear actuator. If nothing else, the recessed automatic door systems would be good for keeping cover, because a single poke with the 80-year-old cold steel on the end of his rifle tripped the door and opened it. As soon as the door latched open, a child (Hess guessed in the vicinity of 10, maybe 11 years old) bolted for the next door, opened both and closed both behind him (or her), still running.

"Must be my inexorable charm," Erich snarked before he continued walking. "Okay, that's too good to pass over," Hess said with a smile when his foot nudged an American M79 baseball grenade and he stopped to look at it. "Fucking hell, now I know I'm not in Kansas any more, Toto," he said after he read the standard military label off the bottom of the grenade body. It was completely standard manufacture, recent vintage (2011, to be exact) and standard fragmentation type. The Kentuckian made sure the thumb clip and pin were in place and secure, then hooked the spoon in a MOLLE loop on the front of his vest. If he had to clear a room, at least he had one good grenade for the job, he hoped. No telling if it would work as advertised until he had to use it, and he hoped he never did.

CAR 3 (0549) (Luggage)

"Who goes there?" A rather young voice barked after the door to the next luggage car slid open.

Hess immediately lowered his rifle, but did not come out from behind cover. "Just an American, trying to track down someone who shot up a friend of mine. May I pass?" Hess asked.

"Oh, you shot a slaver," a young teen girl said. "Yeah, he passed through about a half hour ago, he had a couple nasty wounds. You may pass, and kill 'em for us when you find him, please."

Hess moved through the doors, though he sort-of jolted when he realized there were not one or two, but thirteen kids, evenly spread between teen and pre-teen. All of them looked like the typical expectation of hard kids caught in a warzone, and every one of them had no less than two weapons of some kind. Erich had remembered Prepper theorizing on the 'possibility' of 'feral children' caught in disaster zones, so he went out of his way to make sure he wasn't going to have a shoot-out with a bunch of peeps who could not legally vote yet.

"Holy Emperor! How much are you carrying, big guy?" one of the teen boys asked, which roughly knocked them out of the 'feral' category quickly. They were probably educated to some degree, or cultured amongst themselves or a larger group, but outlaws in this case.

"Eighty pounds, give or take," Hess answered as he kept walking. He had deliberately made sure his weapons were pointed to the ground, so he was not presenting a threat to the kids. "You said the passer-by was wounded?"

"Yeah, one in the guts, two in the left arm," the eldest teen girl said. Hess could tell she probably meant business with the Ruger GP100 she had in her waistband, a veritable twin to his own revolver that was in his home.

"Excellent, my revolver work is still up to par." Hess figured if he had put three rounds on target at 40 yards in a combat situation, he still had an idea what he was doing in terms of pistol work.

"Well, good luck, mister American," a kid Erich guessed around nine-years-old said. "He's not the only slaver in the train, though, so he'll have friends."

"Cap one, cap 'em all," Hess said savagely. "Good luck on your travels," Hess said before he moved to the next door and tripped it.

CAR 4 (0552) (Luggage)  
CAR 5 (0554) (Luggage)

One luggage car bereft of personnel gave way to another, though the second car had two items that Hess otherwise would have given parts of his anatomy for. Barely inside the car, Erich stubbed his steel toe boot on a hard object under a pile of clothing, and when cleared he revealed a slightly marred rifle stock. A little more digging and he found the rest of the rifle: a Walther WA-2000, a gun that was effectively so rare that he could have sold it to pay off the last vestige of his house mortgage. This caused a bit of a mental quandary as he debated taking the Walther sniper rifle versus retaining his Enfield, but practicality won out. The WA-2000 was a damn good rifle, but he had what was in the magazine total ammunition (which turned out to be 4 rounds). The Enfield he had a full mag in, plus an ammo bag with stripper clips. Firepower won in this case.

The second happenstance was another precision rifle, the H&K SL8-1. Also a common sniper configuration, Hess would have loved to have a Heckler and Koch product in his personal arsenal, but again the practicality of the matter came to a head when he realized the rifle was unmodified — it had a ten-round single stack mag, not the 30-round mag of its G36 cousin. In direct contest, the Enfield bolt-action still won. Though disappointing to be unable to pick up one of these marvelous rifles, Hess continued on without picking anything up.

CAR 6 (0558) (Luggage)  
CAR 7 (0600) (Luggage)  
CAR 8 (0602) (Luggage)

Two luggage cars more, one without people, one with another trio of the same cult / gang / group / whatever of displaced children (they cheered him on for tracking the slaver), with no major gear or interesting items to note. Hess wondered idly if the luggage around him had more such gear or materials, but he didn't want to waste time trying to strip it for usable goods. Any of the foods and medicines he found along the way he considered suspect and did not touch; with no real idea how they were handled, or how old they were, he was not going to take such a chance.

The third car was something Erich mildly expected, but was still very taken aback on the encounter.

"Holy God, that's not something you see on these trains frequently," a guy said after Hess opened the door and peeked in behind his rifle sight. There were two others in the room, a lady and two teens, but they were separate from the guy.

"What? Properly armed and outfitted troops?" Hess asked after he stepped in.

"Certainly not, an American period, much less a heavily-armed American," the guy said. "You traveling, or here for a specific purpose?"

"Chasing down a slaver that shot up a friend of mine," Hess answered curtly. When close in to the guy, Hess found himself repeatedly drawn to the guy's hair — it wasn't just blond, or even platinum blond, if Hess had to put a color to it, it was metallic gold.

"I'm looking to get off this train, myself, after I was shanghaied. If you're willing, I'll help you get your man and get off this wagon," he said.

The Kentuckian nodded thoughtfully, considering the possible. After a moment, he came to only one conclusion. "Three cars back, against the port-side wall, is a rifle with a scope. You know how to shoot?"

"I've used a rifle a few times, yes," he said.

"Grab it and come on up. I'll hold here until you're back." Hess looked to the lady and the teen. "You two want off as well?"

"Erm, I don't know how to fight or shoot," the lady said.

"Then stay behind myself and the other guy, if you want out."

"I'm not sure how much use I'll be with this, but I'll do what I can," the guy said after he returned.

"That's the job, _amigo_," Hess answered. "We do what we can, nothing more. You have a name?"

"Tyee," the guy said. "You?"

"Erich Hess." That caused the guy to raise an eyebrow in surprise. "Something up?"

"There's a story to that name, but it's a different guy unless you are a Master Executor?" the guy asked.

"Never heard the title in my life, much less earned it," Erich judged. "Save it for later. Let's roll."

CAR 9 (0610) (Luggage)

When the door latched open, Erich peeked into the luggage car. "Exactly how many luggage cars done one train have?" he asked Tyee.

"Thirty or forty, I think," Tyee answered. "I didn't exactly count when last I moved through."

"Whoa, a rescue party? Here?" A guy asked after he peeked his head out from behind a stack of hanging bags.

"Kinda sorta," Hess acknowledged after he moved into the car. "You trying to get out?"

"Turned back ahead, some of the gangs… and someone that tried kidnapping this girl as we passed," the guy waved a finger at a child, Hess guessed in the vicinity of seven years old, "Can you get us out, good sir? I'll do whatever I can to repay you."

"You run with me, you may not survive. I ain't got a clue what's ahead, all I know is what's on the far end of my rifle sights. If you want to take that chance, you're welcome to come along," Hess decided that this was probably going to be how he moved through the train, picking up stray people interested in departing the train, wherever it landed. Hess had a feeling that when he got to the engine and stopped this monstrosity, it probably would not be in his backyard.

"I'm in. Alexander's the name. Not a professional combatant, but I'll do what I can. Little girl's name is Adelle. I want to try to get her out of here, somewhere safe."

"Fair enough. Fall in behind Tyee, we'll do what we can."

CAR 10 (0613) (Luggage)  
CAR 11 (0615) (Luggage)

"Alexander?" Hess asked after he cleared the car to make sure there was nobody inside.

"Yessir?" Alexander asked.

"Packframe to your left," Hess pointed. "As much as I hate to ask you to do so, we're going to need supplies for travel if we can find anything reliable."

"No problem, big guy," Alexander picked up the packframe, then gasped. "Whoa! What the —"

"Now that is some serious hardware," Hess said, looking at it over the top sights of his Enfield. "USAS-12 automatic shotgun. Want to learn how to shoot in a hurry? That thing will make you a believer in no time."

"Okay, I'll learn," Alexander picked it up and put the sling over his shoulder in the same fashion that Hess had his AR-15 carbine slung. To that he added the packframe, and Hess transferred the box of shotgun shells he had found earlier over to Alexander's pack.

"Now, quick safety briefing. First, finger off the trigger until you are ready to shoot. Keep it up along the frame, like this." Hess demonstrated with his weapon. "Second, gun to the ground until you are ready to raise it. Your muzzle never aims at anything or anyone you are not willing to shoot, clear?"

"Clear, sir," Alexander noted.

"Third, always be sure of what you are shooting and what is behind it. And, in the case of shotguns, what is in the vicinity of your target. Now, set your weapon on safe, and only take it off when you are ready to shoot."

"This here?" Alexander pointed to it.

"Yeah, put it in the 0 position. When you are ready to fire, move it to the 1 position, but not to two. If you fire it on two, you're going to go full auto, and that would ruin everyone's day when you shoot through the whole magazine." Erich specifically did not say that the gun would go apeshit at that time, firing in a whole freaking lot of different possible directions, mainly because he figured Alexander the kind of guy who would try it just to see if he could handle it. Hess was correct in his assessment, but not for machismo; Alexander was out to prove that he could help, not that he was the best guy in the stack.

"One last thing. Grip and sights," Tyee continued the lesson. "Grip here and here, shoulder in tightly, bring up." Alexander followed Tyee's demonstration. "Finger, Alexander," he warned when Alexander made the common movie mistake of having a finger inside the guard without intent to shoot. "Now, sight picture. Look through the rear peep sight, focus on the front post. Always on the front post. Put the post over what you want to shoot, then pull the trigger smoothly. Don't jerk it unless you want to miss."

"Got it, sir," Alexander said.

"Remeber, side of the frame until you are ready to shoot, and fall in behind Tyee." _And God help me if we get into a situation before I can really train this guy properly_, Hess thought but did not say. At least, to Hess' considerations, Tyee sounded like he had a general idea what he was doing.

CAR 12 (0622) (Luggage)  
CAR 13 (0624) (Luggage)  
CAR 14 (0626) (Luggage)

Upon the next car, the Kentuckian found two persons that showed no interest in going anywhere, so he left them to their own devices. The 13 car was empty, but the fourteenth car was not. When Hess did his initial sweep of the vehicle, he found one person inside, with a H&K MP7 at her side and cradling an AK-101 like someone would cradle a body pillow. Hess could tell she was aware of his approach, but she did nothing notable when he stopped in front of her.

"Carrying those, she sleeps well, I figure," Tyee noted sardonically.

"If I had the MP7 under my pillow at night, I would sleep well just the same," Hess said calmly after he squatted down in front of the lady and braced his Enfield from the floor to his left shoulder.

"Not surprised an American is here," the lady said after opening her eyes. Eric could easily place her English as Japanese-accented, given he had heard such an accent more than once at work. "You're not military, though. Your gear… close but not quite."

"Kentucky Tea Party, Kentucky Unorganized Militia," Erich noted. "What is your story?"

"Three years ago, college friends dared me to board this creepy train. They chickened out. I went along. Now, I just wander the train, hoping I can see my homeland out the windows and return."

"Japan, if I had to make a guess," Hess guessed.

"You not normal American," she said warily.

"And that is a good thing," Hess countered softly. "Normal Americans would be slaves or casualties to this train. I intend to clear it, stop the train, and drag a certain criminal out to face justice at home."

"Good luck finding him," she said. "Just seek to leave."

"I can make no guarantees, but if you want to come along, I will try to find you a way home."

"What price?" she asked after a moment of considering it.

"Pull your own weight, help where you can, and we have an agreement."

"Deal," she said. "You Americans funny bunch. Hate everyone, help everyone. Why?"

"Because I hate nobody. Our government hates everyone and has been hijacked by communist scum. All I do is try to fix problems."

CAR 15 (0630) (Luggage)

Hess popped the door into the next car with his bayonet, as usual. The response from the far side of the door was unpleasant at the minimum, though it changed quickly. "He is coming this way! Don't shoot, kids!" a teenage guy said. "American! You can come in, we won't shoot," he said after a moment.

_Now THAT is reassuring. I wonder if my life insurance covers being shot by gangs of children in a train in an indeterminate location elsewhere in Existence_? Hess asked himself mentally. After a moment to confirm no weapons raised, he waved his team forward, and led the entry himself.

"If you're looking for the slaver you shot, he bled his way through here about 40 minutes ago or so," a teenage girl said, before she pointed with a handheld radio to a spot of blood on the floor. "What did you hit him with? 32 Special?"

"357 Magnum, but I shot him from roughly the length of this train car so it might have lost some velocity."

"From that far? You're a freaky good shot, big guy," she said before she raised her radio. "Charlie Command, Charlie 9, American is at my location. Says he shot the slaver with a 357 mag from a distance of about a car length. Any sign of him?"

"Charlie 9, Charlie 18, I'm at car 67, the slaver never passed my location. He may have stopped somewhere after the luggage cars," a young boy answered the teen lady over the radio.

"He's bleeding pretty bad," the teen lady in front of him said. "May have bled out. Any teams after the luggage cars but before Team 18?"

"Team 7 reporting, I saw the slaver pass out of the luggage cars but keep going. I didn't track. Should I?"

"You guys don't have to worry about this," Hess said. "I'll deal with him when I find him."

"We want him dead, American," the teen lady said. "Those slavers, they usually grab kids, easier targets and some sick bastards pay more for the 'fresh' ones." she shuddered. "When we escape, we kids band together for protection from the slavers and the other gangs. Watch yourself, and especially watch the little girl."

"Alexander is watching her, we will keep her safe," Erich said. "Anything major I need to know about ahead of here?"

"Not that I know of, big guy," the teen boy said. "You get this train stopped and plug that slaver, we'll run with you to the gates of Hell. Sound good?"

"Sounds like a pretty good deal, mister. Listen for the shot," Hess said before he waved the team through to the next door.

_This really is a crapsack passenger train headed to Hell on rails_, Hess thought but did not say. _Kinda makes my life to this point look pussy. I think I may have to harden the fuck up if I expect to survive this_.

CAR 16 (0635) (Luggage)  
CAR 17 (0637) (Luggage)  
CAR 18 (0639) (Luggage)  
CAR 19 (0641) (Luggage)  
CAR 20 (0644) (Luggage)  
CAR 21 (0646) (Luggage)  
CAR 22 (0648) (Luggage) (Evacuated 8 Charlie Mafia, 3 Civilians)  
CAR 23 (0650) (Luggage) (Evacuated 4 Civilians)  
CAR 24 (0652) (Luggage)

Hess and his little merry band made good time for nine cars, encountering a few persons that wanted nothing to do with him, and a few that wanted to follow him off the train, including a cell of Charlie Mafia as they called themselves. Along the way, Tyee had acquired a set of actual body armor that had taken a hit or two in the rear plate but was otherwise usable. That made the golden-haired guy technically better protected than himself, but not better armed. He did pass a group of persons that looked a bit shifty in car 17, but they gave him no hassle when they realized he was carrying more firepower than any three of their ranks.

Car 24 was when the name of the game changed again for Hess. Especially when the car occupants waved him in of their own volition. Fifteen persons of assorted age from nine to somewhere in their teens wore the gang colors of the Charlies, four ladies of harder-to-guess ages wore different gang colors but apparently not at odds with the Charlies. The group was gathered around, of all things, a portable stereo that didn't look too far different from something that Hess might have had around his house.

The music playing on it, though, was not unfamiliar to the Kentuckian. "Moody Blues," Hess said by way of greeting.

"Name the song, America, for some bonus points," the eldest of the ladies said.

"Gypsy Of A Strange and Distant Time," Hess said after a few moments of searching his memory for the full name.

"Bravo," she said with a smile. "Care to go for double jeopardy?"

"What's the wager?" Hess asked neutrally.

"Winner gets to call the loser's shots for a day," she said. "Anything goes, except for death or self-destructive activities, of course."

Erich smiled serenely. "I'd take that gamble, but I have a tango to catch. Tall guy, three good bullet holes in him, headed that way. Know anything?"

"Yeah, he was a Journeyman in the Interdimensional Slave Trader's Guild. And he looked like he had just had a very bad day when he was traipsing through here," the youngest of the ladies with the alternate gang colors said.

"I hope he was, I hammered him with three rounds of 357 Magnum," Hess said. "So, these shits are organized?"

"It's a small guild, but active and very vengeful. Watch your step, they don't require much provocation."

"Roger that," Erich acknowledged. Without challenge, he moved past the Mafiosi group, but was stopped just before he made it to the door.

"Hey, big guy, what do you say to some company tonight? I always like hanging with Americans."

"By tonight, I intend to be off this train. Anything that happens after that is negotiable," Hess answered before he tripped the next door.

CAR 25 (0655) (Luggage)  
CAR 26 (0657) (Luggage)  
CAR 27 (0659) (Luggage)  
CAR 28 (0701) (Luggage)  
CAR 29 (0703) (Luggage) (Evacuated 3 Bravo Mafia, 10 Charlie Mafia)  
CAR 30 (0706) (Luggage)  
CAR 31 (0708) (Luggage)  
CAR 32 (0710) (Luggage)  
CAR 33 (0713) (Luggage)  
CAR 34 (0715) (Luggage)  
CAR 35 (0717) (Luggage)  
CAR 36 (0719) (Luggage) (Evacuated 1 Civilian)  
CAR 37 (0721) (Luggage)  
CAR 38 (0723) (Luggage)  
CAR 39 (0725) (Luggage) (Evacuated 2 Civilians)  
CAR 40 (0728) (Luggage)  
CAR 41 (0730) (Seats, 1 Level)

"I will be the first to admit that I have never been so thankful for cheap, durable, public transportation seating in my life," Hess said after the 41 door slipped open to reveal an empty metro-liner car.

"Something wrong, Hess?" Tyee asked after they made entry. Hess entered the car and immediately went left, between the back seats on the left side, so he could aim down the left-side seats.

"Yeah, short-sight on my part," The Kentuckian admitted, but tactical considerations came first. "Tyee, right side, aim straight down the right-side seats. Alexander, Asako, slowly sweep forward checking both sides until you reach the end. Follow?"

"Yes, sir!" Alexander responded heartily. He led off on the deliberate search of the train seats. "Clear!" he half-shouted when he reached the end.

"Pool of blood here, sir," the little girl noted halfway down the train car. "He must have stopped here."

Hess approached the blood puddle with Tyee in tow. "Fresh, but there is dried blood and other material here and on these seats. There's been some action here of some kind." Hess picked a clean seat and sat down, deliberately taking all the weight off his feet. "I was planning on buying a new set of insoles for my boots next week. Now I am walking on those same unmodified boots with an extra 80 pounds of gear above my already large personal mass."

"Never thought of that," Tyee said.

"I can carry the gear, easily, but I am not a professional soldier, or even paramilitary / law enforcement. Some things I can do, but am not used to doing repeatedly or for long duration, follow?"

"Unorganized Militia," Asako said.

"Yes. By day, I solve technology problems. By night, I am a classic American gun collector and shooting enthusiast. This whole 'chase down the slaver' thing is because I do not tolerate people shooting at my friends."

"You crazy, but right kind of crazy to make this work," Asako said. "With this kind of blood loss, he'll be dead before we get to him."

"Don't worry, I mostly expected it," Hess said coldly. "Grab a seat, take twenty, we'll continue after I down some pain reliever and it begins taking effect."

On his right leg rig (drop-leg MOLLE platform), Hess had his pistol and a custom-built medkit. The latter opened up and flopped out the small-device containment, where he had individually-wrapped pain reliever doses waiting for him. "That's a neat medical pouch," Tyee said.

"Condor Rip-away EMT pouch, and I loaded it custom with everything needed for first aid of the usual stuff." With the Excedrin in hand, he folded up the pouch and zipped it back closed. For water, he pulled the hydration tube attached to his over-the-shoulder water bladder forward, bit down on the crush valve, and drew a good, long drink into mouth. He swallowed only after he had the Excedrin in mouth, then downed it all in one gulp.

"What do you not have on your gear?" Alexander asked.

"A tent revival preacher and a kitchen sink," Hess answered with a smile. "My gear is blended; it's mostly for heavy combat, but also somewhat setup for survival and bug-out operations. Part of that is water, which is the bladder on my back panel. Asako, what do the residents do for water?"

"Bath cars, dining cars, the occasional water fountain in the seat cars," the long-time resident of the train said. "I try to take a bath every other day or so," she admitted.

"Good policy," Erich admitted. "Disease kills; keeping yourself clean can help avoid a lot of that."

"_Hai_," she answered.

"You're thinking something, big guy," Alexander said after observing Hess for a moment.

"I keep coming back to the question, does everyone on this train speak English, or am I so far beating the odds on languages?" Erich asked, wondering how he was managing to avoid any miscommunication problems of that nature.

"Ah, simple answer to that one," Tyee said heartily. "English is the _Lingua Franca_ of known Existence. Close behind is Japanese, Russian, Chinese, Latin, and the nonhuman Elven language. You can expect 80 to 90 percent of everyone on the train knows at least some English."

"Now that is a phrase I have not heard in a long time," Hess said. "Good to know I'm at least that far ahead of the curve. Still, four of the five secondary languages were to a degree on my list of things to learn." Hess sighed. "Speaking of learning, time for a common tactics lesson for you three."

"Listening," Asako said.

"What we did to clear the car, I went left, Tyee went right, and you two went up the center, that is called deliberate search. Seat cars like this are too easy to create an ambush. We need to make it a policy to clear them properly, as well as any other car types we come across. Follow?"

"I hear, sir," Alexander answered heartily. "How do you want us to do this?"

"Practice on this car, since we know it is safe," Erich decided. "Head back out the rear door. Tyee, you have point. Do you understand your purpose?"

"Yes, sir, I enter and move left, Asako moves right and aims down the seats, and Alexander sweeps down the center," Tyee covered the entire plan.

"Correct. When you have that much down, I will join the stack to get some practice in myself. Make sure your weapons are on safe at all times and fingers off the triggers. I do not want this to be live-fire practice."

CAR 42 (0752) (Seats, 2 Level)

Erich tripped the door to the next car, then immediately entered and went left to his usual position. Immediately, his rifle was downrange and ready for action…on precisely no threat in the car. Tyee took his position to the right, though he was partially obstructed by a set of spiral stairs headed up to the second floor. Asako and Alexander moved in last, ready to move forward and clear the car.

"One person, left side, three-quarters the way down. Come out!" Asako ordered, her assault rifle centered on where she thought the threat was. Hess naturally took aim in the same location, for supporting fire purposes if needed.

"Asako!" A young girl shouted as she bolted to standing. Erich immediately diverted his rifle once he realized it was a pre-teen girl with no weapons or any manner of obvious threat.

"Alena? Here? Why?" Asako asked as the kid crossed into the walkway and charged the Japanese train resident for a hug.

"Was trying to get off the train, Asako! Wanna come with?" Alena asked.

"I am, this guy is trying to get us out of here," and Asako pointed back to Hess. "Bring another?"

"Certainly," Hess said without hesitation. With two young girls in the group, he figured he could split one of his MREs to provide a meal for them. "Tyee, eyes on stairs, we keep moving. Prepare to stack."

CAR 43 (0754) (Seats, 2 Level) (Evacuated 1 civilian)  
CAR 44 (0756) (Seats, 2 Level)  
CAR 45 (0758) (Seats, 2 Level)

Eric and Tyee entered the car immediately, diverting from side to side to take cover over the seats. After 4 cars and plenty of practice, the positioning and the purpose was deliberate and fast.

Of course, given the sheer amount of gangs and their distribution throughout the train, the odds would eventually come up against Erich and his merry band. "What the fuck?" A guy asked when he looked over his shoulder to see who had entered.

"Who the fuck is this?" another guy asked. Eric figured him on the order of 25, reasonably fit and decently dressed. The weapon he picked up off the seat next to him immediately made Eric's blood run cold: an old M3A1 'Grease Gun', often times considered the poor man's Thompson SMG.

Hess had his Enfield with Bayonet on target immediately. "Don't do it, asshole. This is not how you want your day to end," The Kentuckian said adroitly. Contrary to practice, Alexander and Asako entered and immediately went left or right to take cover beside Erich or Tyee.

A different guy in their small group made the first move. A revolver came up and a shot was snapped off in Erich's general direction. Hess flinched but held his position; the shot struck the back of the seat in front of him, but failed to penetrate. The same guy traversed and fired on Tyee, with the achievement of even less by landing the second shot into a wooden accent piece.

Tyee countered the first shooter with two rounds from his H&K SL8-1, the first in the left arm and the second dead center in the guy's chest. The golden-haired rifleman traversed next, sighted up a younger guy who was trying to bring up some kind of long weapon, and fired twice again. One in the chest and one in the waist ensured he went down with blood on his expensive shirt.

Hess made the next move, four rounds rapid in the classic British Infantry 'Mad Minute' style, starting with the Grease Gun. Right waist shot caused him to drop the gun and collapse below the seats, screaming in agony from having his intestines violated by a hunting rifle round. Traverse, fire; a shot to the chest on an older guy with a Glock put him down permanently. Traverse, fire; the one guy on their side with decent tactical clothing went down courtesy of a chest shot as well. Traverse, fire; the fourth, a 25-or-thereabouts guy was smart enough to get mostly out of Erich's line of fire, but it didn't spare his left arm. Gauging by the screaming, Hess figured the shot struck bone and splintered.

The last tango standing popped off a shot from a derringer at Hess, then tried a poor New York Reload over to a 1911. Before the second pistol came up, Hess had him drilled in the left arm and again in the chest, which caused him to go down hard. "Sweep forward! Ensure clear!" Eric shouted over the wailing of the two wounded (not fatal) among the enemy rank.

Alexander was first up and on his sights, his shotgun forward and traversing back and forth to try to spot an enemy before they drilled him. The one that Eric got in the left arm tried popping some rounds out of a smaller pistol at the group, but failed to hit in four shots; Alexander made the kill shot on him from four seats away, and even managed to retain possession of the USAS-12 after the shot. Asako took the lead after that, and only needed to knife one of the remaining enemies to end the battle. Further sweep of the car, including the upstairs, lent nobody else to be found.

"Good shooting, sir," Alexander said. "You accounted for four and a partial, Tyee got two, and Asako 'n' I got the leftovers."

"Where you learn to shoot like that?" Asako asked almost belligerently. "Never seen bolt worked like that."

"British Infantry can do that routinely," Erich answered. "I am not even close to their skill levels."

"What now, sir?" Tyee asked.

"Take a quick breath, reload 'em if you have ammo, and salvage the dead for weapons or ammo. Tyee, sling the SL8-1 over your back and pick up that Styer AUG and your choice of pistol. Asako, find yourself some kind of backup besides that knife. Alexander, get a pistol of some kind and the Grease Gun."

Hess joined the group at the deceased enemies, so he could see if there was anything he wanted to salvage. He did find a rather unusual small pistol, an AMT Backup in .40, which he added to his boot as an 'ankle' gun.

"What is this, sir?" Alexander held up a large-frame pistol.

"Oh, holy shit," Erich groused when he recognized the rather unique profile. "A Deagle," he half-gaped.

"A what?" Alexander asked for clarification.

"A Deagle, as it is jokingly called by detractors. Desert Eagle, this is the Mark 19 version, in .357 Magnum. This is a helluva lot of gun in a handheld package. I fired one, once, many years ago. It's a bitch of a pistol unless you know how to handle magnums."

"You killed the user, sir, it's yours," Alexander said with a smile.

Hess added the Desert Eagle to his backpack. He didn't consider it much of a serious armament at the here and now, but he did consider it a collector's item. After all, he did kill the original owner in close quarters, sub-machine gun to rifle. That would make for a hellish story in years to come, he figured. While he had his backpack off, he took the liberty of loading six more rounds out of his loose-stash ammo into the Enfield, to save the stripper clips he had for combat purposes.

CAR 46 (0805) (Double Sleeper Car, 9 rooms)  
CAR 47 (0708) (Baths, Gender Split)  
CAR 48 (0811) (Double Sleeper Car, 9 rooms) (Evacuated 22 (!) Civilians)  
CAR 49 (0813) (Double Sleeper Car, 9 rooms)  
CAR 50 (0815) (Double Sleeper Car, 9 rooms)  
CAR 51 (0817) (Dining Car)

"Okay, this is nice," Erich said after he entered a dining car. It was set up as would be an old 60's diner, with the long and shallow kitchen area against the wall, and seating all around it in a semi-circle. "Anyone know how one of these is supposed to work? I'm not seeing any cold storage here, except for a couple mini-freezers."

"Temporal Storage System," Asako said. "Supplies for train are held in special storage, you access them through the storage box here." Asako rapped her knuckle on it twice.

Eric pressed the power control on the panel next to it, which caused the interface to light up. "Well, so much for linguistic luck. I'm guessing that is Japanese?"

"Here," Asako tapped a couple more controls, which converted the panel to English. "Here, hold your thumb against the reader here. This will save your interface settings throughout the train."

Hess, being no stranger to electronics and specifically biometric authentication systems, dropped his ring finger on the reader plate since he wanted to make sure he was not using a finger that he normally used for biometrics. A quick read and he was authenticated to the system...oddly with full access.

"Full access all systems?" Hess asked after reading through the prompts.

"That unusual," Asako groused. "Even I don't have full access, and I have been here for three years."

"Someone likes me, and I think I need to worry about that," Hess groused.

"Do we stop for a meal?" Alexander asked after he finished inspecting the room.

"Bit early for that," Hess answered. "You've been on train for years, is there more dining facilities ahead?" he asked Asako.

"Yes, at least two more. Haven't been as far forward as the engines, there may be more."

"Then we will grab some food later down the road. For now, water." Hess drilled down the control panel menu structure until he found bottled water in the common 16oz sizes, and ordered the maximum he could pump out of the system at a time, two cases. Once he submitted the request, the delivery door panel locked and an indicator light went red. Ten seconds or so later, the door unlocked and the light went green. Hess pulled the delivery door open, and reached in to pull the first of the cases of water bottles out. Alexander grabbed the second and both of the cases were dropped on the counter for his myriad collection of evacuees and personnel.

Over his left shoulder, the Kentuckian kept a knife in a draw-down knife sheath, an assisted-open utility blade with nothing special about it. He flicked the blade open and ran a quick cut over the top plastic of the two cases, enough to make getting to the bottles easier than trying to fight with the ends of the packaging. A quick flick and the knife was closed and back in sheath.

"You really do carry it all," Alexander said with a smile. "Adelle! Alena! Two bottles each!" he passed the girls each two bottles, then pulled two for himself.

Hess pulled two bottles for himself. "Huh. Someone has a sense of humor. Diet water."

"What?" Asako asked, to which the Kentuckian held one of the bottles up for her to look at the label properly. "Oh. That old joke."

"Everyone else, take some bottles and pass 'em around!" Erich ordered. "Easiest way to cripple yourself is dehydration, and carrying people out is not an option at this time." What bottles remained from the two cases, Hess had Alexander stow in his packframe in case needed later. His last action before he stepped out from behind the cooking station was to log himself out of the system.

CAR 52 (0823) (Seats, 2 Level) (Evacuated 2 civilians)  
CAR 53 (0826) (Seats, 2 Level)  
CAR 54 (0828) (Seats, 2 Level) (Evacuated 7 civilians, 7 Bravo Mafia)  
CAR 55 (0832) (Seats, 2 Level)  
CAR 56 (0834) (Seats, 1 Level)  
CAR 57 (0836) (Double Sleeper Car, 9 rooms) (Evacuated 10 civilians)  
CAR 58 (0839) (Baths, Gender Split)  
CAR 59 (0841) (Double Sleeper Car, 9 rooms)  
CAR 60 (0843) (Baths, Gender Split)

"Bathroom car, sir. I think some of the evacuees need to hit the cans."

"Not just they, I could stand to hit the can myself," Hess said to Tyee. "Okay, well, take ten and cycle — " the Kentuckian was interrupted by the sound of a rather loud gunshot from the men's room. "Hold here."

Hess set his Enfield rifle aside and brought up the AR-15 Carbine, which though a technically weaker round, was far better suited to close quarters combat than the old bolt-action British stomper. When he got to the door leading into the men's room, he checked the access hall (empty), then moved to the door into the bathroom proper. Before he advanced, Erich took a bare moment to draw his M9 Bayonet and mount it to the AR-15, taking care to do so quietly and not give his position away.

"Not like this, please, not like this," A waist-up-naked lady said. Hess was able to barely see past her while she was kneeling on the ground, and the lady that had a large-frame pistol to the back of her head. Nobody else was in the room, so far as he could see, except for the body of the slaver that had shot at Jefferson Kall and three other bodies. That made the next thing said rather clear:

"Sorry, bitch. You kill one of ours, this is how you go."

Hess threw himself around the corner and immediately came up with the rifle. As soon as the holographic sight reticle was on target, he began firing in semi-auto one round after the next into her chest. Two, four, six, eight, ten rounds as he marched toward her, and even after the tenth round she was still standing; her body armor appeared to have absorbed all the hits, despite the kinetic trauma the Kentuckian had inflicted. The lady had tried to bring her pistol up and fire back at Hess, but the one shot she got off went wild before one of the M855 LAP rounds Hess favored had punched through her pistol wrist and caused her to drop it.

He fired four rounds into the chest of her body armor from less than two meters, the sheer impact of which had drove her back against the wall of the men's bathroom, but she was still standing. Such a message was clear; he had to do better than just shooting her, apparently, so the Kentucky Unorganized Militiaman / Sheriffs Deputy unbuckled his three-point sling and smashed her in the face with the stock. The physical strike knocked her to the floor and stunned her, to which he simply safed his rifle and drove the point of his bayonet down through the back of her neck. Surprisingly, his electronic earmuffs picked up the short gurgle of blood in her windpipe, then the exhalation of air caused by the disconnecting of her brain from the rest of her body. Technically, she was already clinically dead (there was no saving someone who took such a strike), but her biologic processes would take some minutes to zero out completely.

"Sir! You all right in there?" Asako shouted into the room.

"I'm clear!" Hess responded before he began reconnecting his three-point sling. "One tango down, one hostage cleared. Enter!"

"That is some tough body armor," Alexander said after he entered and swept the room with his shotgun. "None of your shots penetrated?"

Hess flipped the dead lady over. The sheer shock in her eyes was extremely unsettling to Hess, to the point that his stomach riled when combined with the stress of the engagement and the horror of having dropped someone in close. Shooting at range was one thing, and Hess was immune to a lot of stress courtesy of his job, but this was too much to simply brush off. Erich leaned over one of the sinks adjacent to where the slain slavers were, but even with his guts doing backflips, he couldn't barf.

"Sir? Something wrong?" Tyee asked, which caused Erich to look up from the braced position into the mirror above the sinks. The golden-hair rifleman had reached out for his shoulder, but the lady Hess had rescued had stopped Tyee with a grab of his opposite arm. If nothing else, Hess was very thankful for the gesture, but he was still fighting his stomach and held his tongue.

The lady mumbled something in a foreign language while looking away from Hess, so whatever had happened, he missed it when he looked back down to the sink, unsure if he was going to barf yet or not. Hess would not know until much later that she had used a simple restorative spell to correct her damaged hearing from all his gunfire. "It is stress. Just let him bleed the stress," the rescued lady said. "This slaver bitch was wearing Ceramex Dragon Scale armor. Older Dragon Scale system, but easily capable of stopping anything short of a fifty-caliber round. He did the right thing, hammering on her until he could close and stock her. The bayonet below the C1 vertebrae was just the coup de main. Textbook enter and clear; he knows the job."

"Was right about him," Asako said. "Looks like right kind of guy. Shoots like right kind of guy. Thinks like right kind of guy. May be the right kind of guy, even if he is an over-weight American."

"Thanks, Asako," Hess said, though didn't put in as much sarcasm as he felt into his voice. "Don't have time to play the will-I-won't-I game with my stomach contents. We've got a lot of train ahead of us. Alexander, check that tuxedo coat, see if the lady can use it," he indicated a tux coat that was hanging over the side of the toilet stalls. "Anyone need to use the can, cycle through the ladies' room. Five dead bodies is probably a bladder-stopper to most normal people."

"And you are as far from a normal American as I have ever dealt with," the rescued lady said before she shrugged into the tux overcoat provided by Alexander. "Cyrene Curone is my name. I won't state rank or organization, but I am military and I am here undercover to try to help clear the trains for the Returners. Orders from above me. I was just ambushed by that slaver, who was pissed off I found the body."

"That reminds me," Hess rolled over the body of the dead male slaver — the same one he had slammed twice with revolver rounds from a distance. "Looks like the third hit was all Jefferson. Nice." Hess braced his AR-15 and flipped on the GoPro camera. "Evidence recording, 5 June 2015, 0850 Hours Eastern, Erich Hess narrating. The body presently in the field of view is the threat party that shot up the escapees from the train several hours ago, and then fled into the train after shooting up Jefferson Kall's house. I confirm at this time he is dead from the initial gunshot wounds received over three hours ago, two hits from my Ruger GP-100 and one hit from Jefferson Kall's AR-15. No other visible trauma is discernible on the deceased."

Hess raised the camera and put the sights on the lady. "This downed person was also part of the same organization of Slavers, apparently some kind of guild or union, and executed three ladies in this bathroom over the death of the first tango. I was able to intercede and drop her before she was able to execute a fourth person, though I had to use a bayonet strike to the back of her neck to finish the battle — her body armor absorbed fourteen rounds of five-five-six Mike-eight-fifty-five ammo and failed to penetrate, including two shots with a muzzle range to target below two meters. This one is done."

Erich switched off the camera, pulled the memory card out, and stowed it in his MOLLE pocket organizer. He would use his smartphone to 'dup' the record at a later time, but for now he had to get the personnel moving. "Come on, guys. Let's get moving."

"Since you went out of your way to save me, I'll ride with you, Hess," Cyrene said. "I have some talents you might like to call upon."

Hess dropped the side-by-side magazine from his AR-15 and began feeding new rounds into it. "Well, if you'll follow an American Militia Mall Ninja such as myself into the depths of this hellwagon, I would welcome anyone who knows the business."

"American, I get. Militia, I get as well, even though I thought that was a myth. I have no clue what Mall Ninja means," Cyrene said.

"Some day, I will explain," Hess said before he slammed his now-loaded magazine home. "Who has my Enfield?"

CAR 61 (0855) (Lounge Car)  
CAR 62 (0857) (House Car)  
CAR 63 (0859) (Seats, 2 Level) (Evacuated 4 civilians)  
CAR 64 (0901) (Seats, 1 Level)  
CAR 65 (0903) (Seats, 1 Level) (Evacuated 1 Bravo Mafia, 10 Charlie Mafia, 3 Delta Mafia)  
CAR 66 (0906) (Seats, 2 Level) (Evacuated 2 Civilians, 4 Bravo Mafia)  
CAR 67 (0910) (Seats, 2 Level)  
CAR 68 (0912) (Double Sleeper Car, 9 rooms) (Evacuated 6 Bravo Mafia)  
CAR 69 (0915) (Baths, Gender-split) (Evacuated 1 Civilian)  
CAR 70 (0917) (Single Sleeper Car, 15 Rooms) (Evacuated 8 Bravo Mafia)  
CAR 71 (0919) (Baths, Gender-split) (Evacuated 14 Civilians, 6 Bravo Mafia)  
CAR 72 (0923) (House Car) (Evacuated 5 Civilians)  
CAR 73 (0926) (Dining Car)

"Hail to the American!" Someone shouted after Hess opened the door and stepped in.

"CHEERS!" Someone at the bar said before he raised a pint glass in salute to Hess and his party.

"Damn good show, American," the chef said, indicating the televisions on the wall opposite the grill and counter space. "How far you planning to go?"

"All the way," Hess said, even though he was not 100 percent sure what the question's context was.

"You got some rough territory ahead, then. Your guys want some food to go?" the lady chef behind the grill counter asked.

"I'd love a hot meal, but I don't want to eat up all your seating with the trailers. Can you pull MREs and water bottles for us?" Hess asked, knowing both were in the menu of supplies that could be drawn from temporal storage.

"Certainly can, sir," the head chef answered. "And, when you stop the train, if you need a mess section at your location, we're definitely available."

"If I have need of a mess section, I shall definitely give you a call," Hess said when he received the first two cases of water bottles. In the same fashion as before, he cut open the shrink-wrap and set them aside. "How many head do we have total? I have lost count." he asked Alexander.

"No fucking telling, sir," Alexander answered after a moment.

"I've got this, sir," Adelle answered. "Alena, help me do a count?" she asked the other kid that was staying close to the American.

"Sure," Alena and the younger kid began counting off the pile of persons that was now following Hess.

"At a guess, you're going to want to drop another two cases of water bottles. MREs are a dozen to the case, right?" Hess asked the chef.

"Nope, they're cased twenty to a box," the chef said.

The kids returned after several minutes, winded from the dodging and weaving. "Our count is 160, including all of us, sir," Adelle said heartily.

"That was fun!"Alena beamed at the unusual task given her.

"Hundred sixty? Wow," the chef said with a bit of shock to voice. "I knew you had a tail, but you're rapidly approaching the population of a backwoods town."

"And we have a bit more train to go, still," Erich said with gusto. "Eight cases of MREs should do the job."

"Here's the first round," the chef said as he pulled the hatch open. He slid the boxes onto the counter where other diners were not, so Hess could use his assisted-open multipurpose knife to cut them open and cut away the box lids for easy access.

"We'll pass them out, good sir," the lady chef said. "Keep it moving, we're all pulling for your success."

Hess pulled a cheese tortellini MRE out and a water bottle, both of which he crammed into a mostly-unused general purpose pouch on his vest. "Thanks, guys. If I live, I'll find you guys gainful employment, wherever we park it." Hess had to admit he couldn't even guarantee he could park the train in a sustainable location to begin with, but it felt like the right kind of thing to say in this kind of situation.

When the rest of his 'entry team' was supplied, he moved to the door and prepared for the next entry action.

CAR 74 (0933) (Seats, 2 Level)  
CAR 75 (0935) (Seats, 1 Level)  
CAR 76 (0937) (Seats, 2 Level)

"This looks like a good place to set up for a quick meal, rest up for the next phase of the charge," Tyee opined.

"I'm inclined to agree," Hess said. "Stay close, guys, I'd like to ask some questions of you. "Alena, Adelle, can you two direct traffic so we get everyone in here and seated for at least a short while?"

"Can do, sir!" Alena said.

Hess led the way to the far end of the car, where he grabbed a semi-circle seat for the 'entry team' as he was beginning to think of them. Once seated, he unzipped his general purpose pouch and pulled the MRE / water bottle he stashed. "Diet freaking water. Someone really has a sense of humor."

"You would be surprised," Cyrene groused. "So, what's the convo topic of the day?"

"Do any of you know what in the name of all nine Hells this train exists for?" Hess asked while opening and sorting out his MRE contents.

"I can answer that," Tyee said. "These trains are old converted troop transports of the Dynasty Star Empire. Back during the Star Empire Wars, the Dynasty moved their troops around with these trains or by direct planet-to-planet mystic gates. These trains were perfect for dropping in surprise-style, especially on the Mages who had a helluva lot of train tracks on their planets."

Cyrene picked up where Tyee left off to begin eating his own MRE. "After the wars ended, the Dynasty converted them to passenger and luxury trains. More cost-effective than traditional Jumpships like the rest of the Star Empires used. But, after a while, with the proliferation of Gate Mages bringing their costs down to competitive levels, these trains began dropping out of favor."

"And enter the bureaucrats," Tyee said with a mouthful of ham and beans.

"Yes, the bureaucrats. The Star League General Council. 880 dipshits in one chamber, in one assembly building, on one small moon orbiting Terra Zero, a million dimensions away in both distance and relevance." Cyrene bit off the rest of her tirade on that subject, though Hess could easily tell the soured consternation she was suffering about it.

"Huh, sounds like the United Nations General Assembly on my homeworld," Hess groused. "Fuck 'em, though. Mind over matter; I don't mind 'em because they've proven time and time again they don't matter. Anyway, back on the Star League's intervention?"

"That's about the size of it. The Star League pumped money, civilian personnel, equipment, and supplies into these trains to keep them going. The Dynasty completely backed out of the process and handed it over to the Star League. Well, the Dynasty kept sharp guard over the trains. The Star League has never assigned security personnel to the job, mainly because the Executors officially refused to do anything about the Trains. They thought the trains should just be allowed to die out, be disassembled and scrapped out for materials for other things. The General Counsel declared them part of the 'heritage' of Existence and worthy of perpetuation."

"If this shit is supposed to be 'heritage', I would hate to see their definition of 'street crime'," Hess said in complete derision when he waved his finger at the rear of the train. "Another stellar case of throwing good money and resources at a completely bullshit project."

"I once asked, 'God, grant us ridiculous politicians, that known Existence may see their failings and overthrow the bastards.' A few seconds later, God replied back, 'Sorry, these are the dumbest models I have available. Can't do anything worse with expectation of them surviving the Darwinistic process.' And that was all she wrote," Cyrene said in jest.

"Nice," Hess said, chuckling at the clear joke. He was already partway through the cheese tortellini of his MRE, which was good for prepackaged foods. "So, essentially, these trains are someone else's bureaucratic fuckup, and we get to mop up the shit stains?"

"Roger that, big guy," Cyrene said deadpan. "Sounds like you know that story well."

"I have a few stories of my own," Hess answered. "I am an American, living in 2015 Kentucky. The political circus of Washington DC is infinitely more entertaining, and simultaneously more depressing, than any sports events or entertainment programming on the rest of broadcast television. It is the nature of the beast."

"Well, that's the shit and the fan of it," Tyee said. "The Star Empires largely ignore the trains, though the Magi tend to disable them in place by destroying the engine with artillery, then they will board and clear. Last count, they had stopped and cleared 1300 of the trains, but the last valid Star League tally was over 100,000 trains still in service."

"Nice," Hess said sarcastically. "I think I like the Magi response to this threat. May consider putting that into systematic use."

"I think we may have some options," Cyrene said. When the Kentuckian looked at her with a raised eyebrow, "Like I said, Hess, I am military, but I decline to identify whose for the time being. I have some weight to pull, and depending on the movement of certain stars, there may be options."

"I'm beginning to wonder," Hess said. "Still, allow me to be frank before we go any farther down such roads, Cyrene, Alexander, Tyee, Asako."

"Certainly," Alexander said.

"I am, by trade and training, an analyst. Understanding things is my trade. My day-job puts those skills to work maintaining and improving computer systems on my home world, but I have been known to turn that analysis skill on other pursuits. I am also not, strictly speaking, commission military; every American, technically, 'able bodied men age 18 to 45', is part of what is called the 'Unorganized Militia'. We are a reserve soldiery of a reserve soldiery for the Government, and I have taken that duty seriously. Cyrene, you said American Militia was a myth?"

"Aye," Cyrene said. "Always spoken of in tales and rumors, but never seen by modern governments."

"That is because the government has flattened the rights and the willingness of the people to defend their own nation. The militia exists, in small cells here and there, targeted as 'extremists' by the government they believe it is their duty to defend. I was not part of an organized cell of Militia, I was just a guy training and readied for the call-up by my governor, you know, as the law technically requires of any able-bodied male 18 to 45. After a fashion, the people have become so pussified that they would not defend themselves against outside invasion, or domestic enemy. You speak of them as a myth, and to an extent you are correct. They do exist, it is just a question of looking for them in the right places and at the right times. And never take the government's bleating about the National Guard on that subject, or you shall never see the real Joe Everyman militiaman."

"Lesson taken, big guy," Cyrene said. "Damn glad to have you here, by the way. You certainly saved my ass, and I'm a professional."

"Caught looking the wrong direction?" Hess asked.

"Yeah, I was inspecting your handiwork when she got in behind me. For a self-trained unorganized militia guy, you are one damn good shot and tactician. Ever consider making a career of it?"

"No, the career field for mercenaries on my world is swamped by Spec Ops types, far better trained and conditioned than I." Hess poked his vest a couple times, though he was really indicating his prodigious girth under it. "I could not get in the military, medical reasons not pertaining to my mass, and even if I could make weight and didn't have asthma now I am too old to enlist."

"Don't strike me as old," Asako said between bites of sugar cookie.

"Thirty is too old for the services," Hess answered. "I was contented to stand ready for a call-up from the governor, if it ever happened, but now…" Hess waved at the door forward into the remainder of the train. "At least I know all that training and theorizing is working, to an extent. I just hope it holds when the shit really hits the fan."

"We've got your six, big guy," Tyee said. "And weight is correctable."

"And there are military services out there in Existence where the minimum age of enlistment is forty," Cyrene noted. "Or, if you're really feeling skippy, you can start your own mercenary unit and do things however the hell you want. Last I checked, Existence is still free and hale, so, erm, what was the old American saw? Life, erm, pursuit..."

"Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness," Hess answered. "Of which, Jefferson was referring to the vocation of personal choice, not necessarily pursuing things or activities that makes one happy, though that does count as well if that is where you get your jollies off."

"You're not very approving of that," Alexander said warily, gauging by his tone of voice.

"Well, I have no effective problem with someone pursuing what they want. The problem is, all too often a lot of pukes in my homeland would pursue assaulting, slandering, or depriving otherwise good and hardworking people at whim, and make that their vocation in life. No fucking honor left in America, except in a few here and there. Kinda wish I could find a way to correct that kind of problem."

Erich was looking toward Asako, so he missed Cyrene's almost imperceptible twitch when Hess mentioned he wanted to find a solution.

CAR 77 (1009) (Seats, 2 Level)  
CAR 78 (1011) (Seats, 2 Level)  
CAR 79 (1013) (Single Sleeper Car, 15 Rooms)  
CAR 80 (1015) (Baths, Gender-Split)  
CAR 81 (1017) (Double Sleeper Car, 9 Rooms)  
CAR 82 (1019) (Baths, Gender-Split)  
CAR 83 (1021) (House Car) (Evacuated 2 Alpha Mafia, 5 Bravo Mafia, 1 Charlie Mafia, 3 Delta Mafia)  
CAR 84 (1025) (Lounge Car) (Extracted 13 Charlie Mafia)

Alexander was first in the door, M3A1 shouldered but down to the floor. Hess went in second, Enfield also shouldered and down to the ground, expecting some kind of problem in the car.

The worst problem he saw after the Kentuckian entered the room… a sixteen year old chomping on a cigar while playing a game of pool with a couple other teens.

"How about that. The mythical American arrives!" a teen lady at the bar half-shouted. "What's your preference, big guy?" she waved at the bar, which was still mostly stocked.

"Whiskey Sours, but not while I am on duty," Hess answered. "The last thing I need is to fight a hangover while clearing this train."

"Interesting policy," the teen lady said. "Anyway, please, have a seat. I think I need to talk to you about something."

"Alright, guys, take a few, double back and hit the cans two cars back if needed, what have you. This might take a little while." Hess braced the Enfield against the bar top, and took a seat a couple stools down from the teen lady. "Thanks for the offer of a drink, nonetheless. It's not often anyone offers me anything, except more problems to fix."

"I've seen that story before, my father was the same way," the teen lady said. "I'll start this by leveling with you. My name's Sancia Yalwen, out of Detroit in the 1980s. I just started in middle school when the train landed on my street. It landed while me and a couple of my friends were out riding our bikes, and after it stopped, an assault team of slavers jumped out to begin collecting. A couple of my friends were able to ride off, but I was tasered, same as one other of my friends. A little after we were dragged inside, the Detroit PD got into a massive gunfight with the assault team, which stopped us escaping out the back. I was able to escape into the train further, and hooked up with the Charlie Mafia. By then, though, we were long gone from my home. I haven't seen my friend since that day; I have reason to suspect she was dropped off into the business the slavers are in for."

"That would be my ready guess," Hess said, not willing to say that the greater likelihood was that her friend was probably dead.

"I guess you could say, when the going got tough, I went superbitch. I began organizing and outfitting the other displaced kids into something like a cohesive combat force, and turned them against the slavers." She held up her radio. "The teams of Charlies communicate by radio because I found a shipping crate of them, and started making it our mission to coordinate our actions. I am now Charlie Command on this train, because I keep the teams organized, supplied, and fighting."

"That's damn solid," Hess said. "Communication is essential to modern warfighting. Looks like you're doing it right."

Sancia nodded. "We've managed to clear most of the slavers from the train, but you've seen this place. It's still a nightmare. We need out of here, and a lot of us just want to go home."

Hess wasn't convinced that was her personal goal, going by her tone of voice. "Your aim is a bit different, though," Hess prompted her.

"Yeeep, didn't take you much to see through that," Sancia said in half-shock. "Okay, like I said, level. If you can put me in a position where I can eliminate the slaver's guild, I'll follow you to the gates of Hell for the goal of pissing on the wrought-iron bars."

Hess couldn't help but chuckle at her combination of candor and hubris. "Now that is a proper dose of ambition! Not that I like taunting Satan, especially on his own doorstep, but everyone has to have a 'go out on a high note' entry in their bucket list. Might as well make it loud and proud. Okay, Sancia, you have yourself a deal. I can't make a guarantee on this one, but if I find a way to get you in on beating slaver asses, you're first on the list. Fair enough?"

"I'm game," Sancia said. "But, one thing."

"Hrm?" Hess prompted her.

"Can I try your vest on? That looks like it would be fun to wear."

Hess considered something before he answered. "Nothing personal about this question, Sancia, but do you have an idea how much you weigh?"

"Um, yeah, my last weight was yesterday, after I took a shower. 105 pounds. Why?" she asked, very happy to keep her weight down below 120.

"I was guessing that neighborhood, 100 pounds or so." Hess said. "This vest, not including my ruck pack, is 65 pounds. You can cause serious injury to yourself trying to wear more than half your own body weight. The army recommends no more than a third of a person's weight in gear, which for you would be 35 pounds, vest, guns, and rucksack combined."

"Oh. Wow." Sancia shook off a moment of shock. "Can a vest be designed that light?"

"Easily," Hess answered. "Everything on this vest is modular, I can pull, change, or add pouches at whim. I think we'll need to work on this."

CAR 85 (1037) (Seats, 2 Level) (Evacuated 1 civilian)  
CAR 86 (1039) (Seats, 1 Level) (Evacuated 1 civilian)  
CAR 87 (1041) (Seats, 1 Level)  
CAR 88 (1043) (Seats, 1 Level) (Evacuated 5 civilians, 5 Charlie Mafia)  
CAR 89 (1045) (Seats, 1 Level) (Evacuated 5 Charlie Mafia)  
CAR 90 (1048) (Single Sleeper Car, 15 rooms)

"A Japanesque-theme sleeper car?" Hess asked after a while.

"Original decor of the train," Cyrene said. "The Dynasty was heavily into the ancient Japanese themes. One of the trains was 'restored' to older decorations, others were partialed before the crews walked off the job due to security concerns."

"Not surprising," the Kentucky Tea Partier said. "Come on."

Tyee led the charge forward, his thus-far-unused Steyr AUG positioned and ready for whatever he might have to use it on. After the halfway point of the car, that turned out to be… a partially dressed lady, naked from the waist up, and swinging a bottle of vodka.

"Oh! Visitors! Wanna drink?" she asked, waving the bottle (and, inadvertently, her chest) in the direction of the onrushing group.

"Pass, thanks," Hess said, deliberately trying to ignore the lady as they moved past.

Of course, the lady wasn't much inclined to ignore the group. She latched on to Alexander with a side hug as he tried to pass. "What?" he asked.

"Like a big teddy bear," she said. "A big, heavy-armed teddy bear."

"Man, lady, you need to dry yourself out," Tyee yanked her vodka bottle and upended it in the sink at the end of the car where the bathroom accommodations were. "Drunk, half-naked, and perverted is no way to run through life."

"You are such a party killer," she pouted at Tyee. "But a bit of a lady killer, too…"

Tyee blocked her with an outstretched forearm, though it ended up against her rather ample chest. "Don't, honey. We're just passing through. If you wanna join up, ditch the vodka and come looking for us."

"How 'bout a hookup, golden guy?" she asked blearily, pegging to his rather distinctive hair color.

"Like the boss said, 'pass'." Tyee gently pushed her back into her room, then closed the door on her.

"That was interesting," Hess said in a completely neutral fashion.

"Not surprising," Tyee groused. "There will be more."

"Well, like you said, drunk, half-naked and perverted is not a good way to live. Let's move out."

CAR 91 (1051) (Baths, Gender-split)  
CAR 92 (1053) (Double Sleeper Car, 9 Rooms)  
CAR 93 (1055) (Baths, Gender-split)  
CAR 94 (1057) (House Car) (Evacuated 2 Civilians)  
CAR 95 (1059) (Storage / Internal Freight Car)

Hess, like usual, tripped the latch to the next car door by way of his Enfield bayonet, so his rifle was pointing in the general direction of possible threat as soon as the door opened.

In this case, though, after the door opened, he found himself staring down his own sights at more than a few persons in OD clothing, staring back at him over the sights of their weapons. A quick gander determined they were either World War II or Korean, given weapons and gear. Still, staring at two Thompsons, four Garands, two paratrooper M1 Carbines, and a Springfield 1903 Sniper Pattern rifle...not exactly a fun sight to look at for the Kentuckian. "Fuck me sideways."

"Kilroy!" One of the troops said; Hess immediately recognized it as a challenge phrase that the Nazis (and probably the North Koreans or Chinese) would not recognize.

"Was here," Hess answered the traditional challenge.

"All right, enter slow," one of the Sub-machine guns ordered. "Holy moly, son, you're ready for a fight," the Captain in charge said.

"I've had a few good fights already, sir," Hess answered. "Erich Hess, Kentucky Unorganized Militia, year 2015. You?"

"Captain Foley, B Company, 2nd Battalion, 506th Parachute Infantry Regiment," the Lieutenant offered a hand for a shake. "Damn glad to hear a down-home voice. Now, what do you mean by 'year 2015'? You're from that year?"

"That I am, sadly enough," Erich admitted. "This Enfield rifle of mine served in the war you guys are probably in the middle of fighting."

"Yeah, we boarded this train, thinking it was a _Kraut_ troop transport in northeastern France, but we found a lot of weird shit and no Nazis," the squad Sergeant said. His name ribbon read 'Moody'. "You know how to get back to friendly lines, man?"

"That's a question with no simple answer," Hess sighed. "I understand the principles involved in the movement of these trains, but as to specifically where and when you men came from? I don't have that information. I might be able to find it, but I don't know offhand where to drop you for smashing fascist faces."

"Doing better than we are, man. Mind if we tag along, see if you can find us a way home?" the Captain asked.

"Would not mind that at all. Best case, I find you a way home to continue beating Nazi asses. Worst case, I can always find you guys a decent home somewhere."

CAR 96 (1104) (Seats, 2 Level)  
CAR 97 (1106) (Seats, 2 Level)

The sound of gunfire caused Hess to hesitate before he opened the door to the 97 car. "Hot car ahead, I can hear gunfire."

"That car was being held by a vicious bastard, Delta Mafia. Wouldn't let anyone pass, and even shot at us to prevent it," Captain Foley said. "What do you want to do about them?"

"If they want to be flaming assholes about it, I say we make sure their assholes are flaming in hellfire and brimstone," the Kentuckian pulled his bolt back enough that he could do a 'brass check', to he could verify his rifle was hot and ready. After he was convinced he had a live round in the chamber, Hess ran the bolt forward and locked it down. "Were they on the near side or far side of the car?"

"Far side," the squad sergeant answered.

"Everyone, out of the center aisle! Get in the seats and keep your heads down! Upstairs if you have to! Go, now!" the Captain ordered.

"Alena, Adelle, traffic management, get everyone out of the line of fire and then get some cover yourselves," Hess ordered.

Reorganizing everyone to clear the center and get cover took two minutes, all the while with gunfire continuing on the far side of the door. "What do you think, sir?" Tyee asked.

"Let's make 'em bleed," Hess ordered before he used the bayonet to unlatch the door.

What sound was muffled by the doors now came full force to everyone's ears with the door open. "Suppressing fire!" The Foley shouted before he brought his own Thompson up and unleashed the firepower. Hess used the fire to low-run in and immediately bolt left to his customary cover, but this time he dropped under the level of the seats to avoid the fire. The Paratroopers followed him in, using their firepower to suppress so they could move forward to reinforce the 'neutral' Alpha Mafia guys that were trying to force their way through the enemies.

Hess took a moment to try to scope the action by peeking into the causeway, but immediately ducked back in when he realized there was a double-barrel shotgun pointing in his general direction. It was a good call, too, as he could see shards of the cheap plastic metro-liner seating shred off and fly in several directions. One of the Alpha Mafia guys popped off a revolver shot at the shotgunner, to little avail.

Alexander and Tyee entered, moved right, and took their cover. Hess was surprised that Alexander had entered while firing, even if it was ineffectual to a wholly comedic degree; after the fourth round of M3A1 headed downrange, Alexander managed to knock part of the lights out above the enemies.

The Kentuckian set aside his Enfield for the time being; this was a firefight that demanded firepower, and the bolt action would probably result in a bullet through his own eye. As he reached down to pull up his AR-15 for direct engagement, his hand slapped the M67 baseball grenade he inadvertently found earlier in the train. "As good a time as any," he groused, then pulled Mister Grenade from his web harness. The first step, from what he remembered of field manuals, was ensure a solid grip on the spoon. Second, strip the spoon clip off. Third, pull the pin. Hess reminded himself that, at this point in the day, Mister Grenade was not his friend, but was about to become real friendly with some tangos. With a quick check to verify distance, Erich lofted the grenade toward the end of the car. "FRAG OUT!" He shouted in what he hoped was loud enough to be heard over the echoing gunfire.

"FUCK!" Someone else shouted; Hess had no clue who it was, but he didn't have time to worry about it. All the Kentuckian could do was hunker down and hope the fragmentation would not get back to him.

The blast of the grenade was something completely unlike anything the Kentuckian had ever felt before. It was a single low-pressure impulse of force that pushed through him, magnified by being inside a steel box, essentially. The sheer concussion of it briefly robbed him of breath, but with the blast came no fragmentation to him, a good thing.

The detonation stalled the gunfire, which he used as a moment to capitalize. This time around, the militiaman came up with his AR-15 and shouldered it, then leaned out into the hallway to take stock of the battle scape. One tango was still standing, looking port-side with a distant expression to face, but the shotgun he still held made him a threat; one shot to the side of the head from thirty meters was a simple fate to deliver. One Delta Mafia tango was fleeing, his arms and face cut up by shrapnel; no weapons, no threat, no shot. A third, this one a lady, was trying to brace an Ingram Mac-10 against a seat to continue fighting, but before Hess could put sights on one of the Paras cratered her head with a shot of Garand.

"Hot damn, big guy! Did you see that?" One of the Garand troopers shouted before he pulled his earplugs. Hess noticed his name ribbon as 'Elder', which was an interesting name for someone at least ten years younger than himself. "You smacked some guy in the face with that grenade of yours!"

"Wait, what?" Hess asked, still aiming downrange just in case someone else was still alive.

"Damn good throw!" the Sniper said. This close to the man with the rifle, Hess could identify his name ribbon as 'Martin'.

"Check 'em, clear 'em, make sure the rest of the car is clear," the Captain ordered.

"That was completely luck," Hess admitted. "I've read grenade procedures in Army field manuals, practiced with rocks, but this is my first time using one for real. No shit, on my honor, sir," Hess said to Captain Foley before he raised his right arm.

"I believe you, big guy," he answered. "The right call, too. That situation begged for a grenade. How many you have left?"

"None, I found that one in the luggage compartments," Hess admitted. "The Feddies of 2015 America don't like their citizens well-armed."

"If we find more, you'll get some," Foley promised. "Anything left, Sergeant?"

"Not worth talking about sir," Moody answered after he returned from the far end of the car. "We'll want to pick through for stuff, and then we'll want to clean all the mess off it."

"Always a cost to doing it right," Hess said coldly. "Some days, more cost than others."

* * *

**Author's Chapter Afterword**:

Not really a huge amount to say so far. As of the end of this chapter, the narrative is 97 cars in, is already rather bloody, and the fun hasn't even begun to commence.

Now, I want to start this out by saying that the Train phase of this story is just the beginning, and is the traditional beginning of my run through a Sigma campaign. This is deliberate on my part. Using the train as a starting point forces close quarters, where a competent character with proper weapons and skills can rack up some street cred, and gets to meet a lot of odd people that may or may not join his cause. As with all good Role Playing Games, it starts with a quest but that quest evolves as the days go on. First, Hess was after the slaver that shot up his neighbor. Then Hess was trying to get off the train. Now he is going to try to find ways to get the evacuees home. And all, technically, within 5 hours of the start of the chapter.

Wait until Erich and his merry band of misfits makes it to the destination of this train. Then you'll see the scoreboard REALLY change.

Now, a little bit of point about the main character. I wrote this guy out based on an old story reference I made in the Jokers Wild series, a reference to a second 'Erich Hess' that built an interdimensional mercenary unit. I never really established anything about the man behind the name until now. Older guy, technical specialist, social outcast, classic nobody that anyone in America would pass on the street and not think twice about the sod. Of course, those aren't the points that make a good guy that fixes crapsack worlds and problems of a similar nature. Something has to run deeper than that, or the Train would flatline such a character in a heartbeat.

Married to the appearance and outward conduct are two things that make the difference: beliefs and skills. The beliefs are what makes the guy, and what he will use in coming scenarios. Now, first thing a lot of readers will have assumed, Hess is hard-core conservative. WRONG. By the numbers, Hess fits somewhere in the fuzzy gray area between libertarian and conservative, and directly opposed to communists and fascists. Socially libertarian, financially conservative, and staunchly opposed to anything that smacks of Orwell's 1984 or Marx. So, somewhere right of center, hard to define, similar. More to the point, he also falls into certain circles of 'prepper' culture, with a leaning toward 'civil unrest prepping' and similar interrelated pursuits. The gear set he carries, of which he has not yet deployed all of his weapons, is borne of his interpretation for defensive combat necessities, and relies heavily on firepower to get the job done. Especially the old Enfield Rifle.

The skills Hess has are what makes or breaks the quest. This is a guy who prepares himself for the possibility that he may be called up by the governor of his state (Kentucky) and intends to be ready for such a happening. The 'unorganized militiaman' is versed in pistol, rifle, shotgun, long-range rifle, entry tactics, close-quarters tactics, and basic combat principles. He is also studied on the use of infantry support weapons, automatic weapons, grenades and rockets, and other sundry combat skills from Army Field Manuals. Through decades of strategic warfare gaming, and study of military history and tactics, the Kentuckian has a basic grasp of how to pitch and conduct a battle; by no measure is he professional, but anything is better than the opposition's effective lack of training.

And that brings me to the opposition. The Mafiosi of the Trains are a varied bunch, but in this case there are only four groups. The Alpha Mafia is comprised only of men. The Bravo Mafia is comprised only of women. The Charlie Mafia organizes the displaced children and teens into a cohesive group. The Delta Mafia goes the opposite direction, comprising only adults of both genders. It's a classic case of gender and age warfare written into the random results, but by no means are these the only gangs in the system. You'll note that some of the Mafia get along; the Bravos and Charlies tend to get along well, but that is by no means set in stone. The Deltas and the Charlies are always feuding, and you'll see some of that in its horror in coming chapters. The Alpha gangs are just spiky, they really change their tune from one encounter to the next.

And then there is the more serious tangos, such as the Slaver's Guild. I won't go too far into detail on them, since their organization will be revealed and picked apart in later chapters and stories. Rest assured, even worse foes are on the horizon, and that without even taking on contracts.

So, at this point, I'm going to leave this wrapped up for now. If you have questions or points of clarification, I want to hear them. Drop me a PM or a review, and I'll respond in either the story proper (preferred) or directly in review reply or PM.

* * *

**Review Replies**:

New story, No reviews so far.

* * *

**The Gripe Sheet**:

First chapter, no gripes. As with all my writing, much thanks to **Necroblade**, **Takeshi Yamato**, and **Sieben Nightwing** for keeping it straight.

* * *

**Footnotes**:

(1): **S**ervice **L**evel **A**greement, a contract by which a company is required to provide a certain amount and timeliness of service to the contracting party.

* * *

**Crossover Elements**:

IRL Weapons

IRL Tactics

Personal works: the Star League of House Serenity

Call of Duty (Original game): The American Paratroopers.


	2. Smooth Criminals

(Sigma Mercenaries, Story 001: Initial Public Offering)  
(Chapter 02: Smooth Criminals)

(_REMINDER: Previous chapter ended at train car 97._)

CAR 98 (1120) (Seat Car, 2 Levels)  
CAR 99 (1122) (Seat Car, 2 Levels) (Evacuated 6 Alpha Mafia, 4 Civilians)  
CAR 100 (1125) (Seat Car, 2 Levels)

By the time the door finished locking open, the jaw on the lead rifleman had already dropped open, soundlessly flapping.

"What the hell is that thing?" Captain Foley asked nobody in particular.

"Forget what it is, how the hell did it get in here? And is it hostile?" Alexander asked.

"My God," Hess said before he slowly paced into the seat car. "It's… no way is this real! This is an impossibil—" he bit the rest of his sentence off.

"WHAT is it?" Captain Foley asked even as Hess approached the large, somewhat-humanoid metal object.

Hess rapped a knuckle on the object several times. It was indeed metal, and very solidly built so far as the echoes made it sound. "Brace for it, guys," Hess said as he twitched his rifle. The Kentuckian rolled the thumb safety forward into the safed position, then hauled back and stocked the shoulder of the object. The brass buttplate of his old rifle simply rang loud off the armor plate of the cannon-like arm.

"Damn thing is built like a tank," Sergeant Moody noted.

"Damn thing is, if it is what I really believe it is, was designed to rip up tanks and shit out little steel tank-shaped bricks," Hess groused. "Arm cannon, two sub-machineguns on the torso as AP, two paired SRM launchers up top, and the battle claw. This thing is the real freaking deal, so far as I can tell," Erich said in clear awe of what he was standing in front of.

"Whatever it is, he's got a pretty good woody about it," Private Elder said as an aside.

"Kanazuchi Assault Battle Armor," Erich put name to it. "Designed specifically for heavy firepower and armor. Nasty customer as far as battle armor units are counted, assuming what I think I know about it is correct."

"Why here? There are no tanks inside this train, so far as I can tell," Captain Foley said.

"Perfect stopgap defensive unit," Hess said. "You'd need some very serious anti-tank weapons to even damage this thing — forget hand grenades, rifles, even the Bazooka is a pale threat to this thing. You'd need AT guns, artillery, artillery rockets, or warship cannons to reliably knock it out, and God save whatever gets shot by the main gun on this thing. Against something like this, you only get past on the sufferance of the pilot, which means she controls cross-train mobility and there's not much you or I could say about it.."

"Sabotage it?" Moody asked.

"No need," Hess said, pointing inside the open front view-slit. "Someone dropped a frag inside while the pilot was either asleep or incap. What's left of her is hamburgered all over the inside of the armor and dried to it."

"Been dead a while," Moody noted after he shone a flashlight into the armor's interior.

"Well, let's move on. Daylight's wasting," Captain Foley prompted the NCO and the Militiaman.

CAR 101 (1128) (Double Sleeper Car, 9 rooms)  
CAR 102 (1130) (Bath Car, Gender-split)  
CAR 103 (1132) (Double Sleeper Car, 9 rooms) (Evacuated 9 Bravo Mafia)  
CAR 104 (1135) (Double Sleeper Car, 9 rooms) (Evacuated 13 Civilians)  
CAR 105 (1137) (House Car)  
CAR 106 (1139) (Dining Car)  
CAR 107 (1141) (Seat Car, 2 Levels)  
CAR 108 (1143) (Seat Car, 2 Levels) (Evacuated 1 Civilian)  
CAR 109 (1145) (Seat Car, 1 Levels)

Hess could easily notice the gang colors of the Charlies dead ahead of him, so he stepped into the room calmly and stepped aside to his customary position on the port side of the train car, looking down the length of the car.

His nonchalant entry into the car caught their attention. Before Hess could say a thing, a slightly older kid brought a pistol up and rattled two rounds off at him. Both missed wide left of him, but that was a bit of a shock to the Kentuckian. "What the fuck, kids? I'm on your side!" Hess shouted in response to the gunshots, hoping it was a misunderstanding.

"Death to the traitors!" Some barely-a-teen girl shouted at him. Her shot with a derringer from the far side of the train was hopelessly inaccurate, but pro forma.

"Aww, shit, her!" Sancia shouted after she bolted into the room and took the seat directly in front of Hess. "That bitch June is a wrecker. She's wanted the Charlie Mafia command position on this train, now she's going to kill for it."

"Not today," Captain Foley said. "Moody! Suppressing fire!"

"Against little kids?" Moody questioned the orders to the point of near-insubordination.

Foley's response was stifled briefly by the sound of an automatic weapon, and the distinct impacts it caused on the wall above Hess and Foley. "Are you fucking kidding me?" Hess asked after a quick peek to see what they were shooting at him. "They're using a damn SAW on us, and it's taking two of the little shits to prop it up into firing position!"

"Moody! Where's that damn suppressing fire?" Captain Foley asked.

"Hold on," Sergeant Moody brought his Thompson around the corner and laid down a solid wall of ordinance until the magazine ran out. The full magazine clipped four of the shooters and dropped them, including the gunner and supporter on the SAW.

A single shot rang out from the doorway, to which Hess saw the result as a slightly older kid behind a Dragunov was dropped hard by Private Martin and his Springfield sniper rifle. Tyee made his move into the car while Martin cycled his rifle, then when next to Sancia, he brought sights on and ripped four rounds into a person that Erich guessed was twelve, who was trying to aim in on himself with a revolver. She never got the shot off before one of Tyee's slugs caught her in the head and dropped her instantly.

With a brief lull in the shooting, the Kentuckian took a moment to slide out from behind the seat and brace his rifle. Down the far end of the train car, a girl did the same, though Hess was faster on the trigger and his round caught her in the chest just below the stock of her old musket. The shock from his 180-grain soft point hunting round caused her to lose consciousness before her body hit the floor, never to wake up again from her injuries. A quick cycle of the bolt and he was on target with the last tango, who was definitely not old enough to vote and probably not old enough to properly handle the mid-barrel revolver he fired toward the allied lines. One last shot and the kid went down, a center-chest shot ended his attempt at a shooting string.

"God damn, little kids," Foley said, still looking down his sights toward the far end of the car.

"Little or not, kids or not, they weren't playing cowboys and indians," Hess said with clear waiver to voice, where he deliberately used an aphorism that the Captain would recognize.

"And organized enough to use a light machine gun with one holding the stock and another aiming it," Private Elder half-complained.

"Total bitch," Sancia groused. "June Malo, fancied herself queen of the Charlies on this train," she reported after she pulled the earplugs that Hess had missed her putting in. "I had her hold in this area as a stopgap, make sure the Slavers didn't pass to the engine. Guess she decided this was a good time to try to take over the leadership."

"And we just happened to be in the way," Sergeant Moody groused.

"God damn, little fucking kids," Hess said before he took a seat two rows forward of the rest of the team.

"You alright, big guy?" Alexander asked after a moment.

"I kept telling myself I was ready for something like this," Hess said. "All the mental preparation, firearms drilling, tactics studies, and I still had to hammer a kid flat."

"Not alright," Foley yanked Alexander back a seat.

"Excuse me a second," Hess said weakly before he bent over the seat in front of him and barfed.

"If I hadn't seen shit like this in Normandy, I'd be right with the poor bastard," Moody said to his CO while pointing at Hess.

"Yeah, we've got training and time in combat. This is his first day on the job," Tyee waved a finger at Hess.

"Alright, guys. Strip the dead of anything we can use and prepare to move," Captain Foley ordered. "Especially get that light machine gun. Better in our hands than none at all."

"I'm gonna have some serious nightmares over this one," Erich said. After a moment, he took a draw of water from his hydration pouch, swirled it around in his mouth, and spit it out on the floor. "Give me a minute, Cap'n."

"Take what you need, big guy," Foley said. "The engines aren't going anywhere."

CAR 110 (1157) (Seats, 2 Level)  
CAR 111 (1159) (Seats, 2 Level)  
CAR 112 (1201) (Single Sleeper Car, 15 rooms)  
CAR 113 (1203) (Baths, Gender-split)  
CAR 114 (1205) (Double-Sleeper Beds, 9 rooms)  
CAR 115 (1207) (Baths, Gender-split)  
CAR 116 (1209) (House Car) (Evacuated 11 Civilians)  
CAR 117 (1212) (Lounge Car) (Evacuated 9 Alpha Mafia)  
CAR 118 (1215) (Seats, 2 Level) (Evacuated 2 Civilians, 5 Delta Mafia)  
CAR 119 (1218) (Seats, 1 Level)  
CAR 120 (1220) (Seats, 1 Level)  
CAR 121 (1222) (Seats, 2 Level)  
CAR 122 (1224) (Seats, 2 Level)  
CAR 123 (1226) (Single Sleeper Car, 15 rooms)  
CAR 124 (1228) (Baths, Gender-split) (Evacuated 1 civilian)  
CAR 125 (1231) (Double-Sleeper Beds, 9 rooms) (Evacuated 2 civilians)

A 16-car jaunt without a single shot fired did plenty to help calm the soul of the Kentuckian after the gunfight of the Kiddie Car. More was the better, all things considered; twice he came into close proximity with other Charlie Mafia cells, who had obeyed a staunch order to stand down by their leader. Whether or not they would honor an order to depart the train was another question for another day, Hess figured, but that was a battle he was willing to fight when he had the advantage at that time.

Even with what he thought were appropriately hardened nerves, though, Hess still hesitated after each door he opened. He passed it off to subconscious jitters from what he just had to do, but he kept telling himself 'harden the fuck up and get the fuck on'. So far, it was helping to a small degree, but he had no doubt that he would not sleep well tonight. This was the nightmare scenario of disaster preppers, 'feral' kids willing to kill anything in their path to their goals.

The latch popped and the train door slid open; after a few moments, the Kentuckian darted into the room and to the corner where the double-sleeper rooms abutted the port-side walkway wall. He brought the rifle around the corner of the wall and aimed down the hallway at… three persons loitering halfway down the hallway.

Erich signaled for three contacts dead ahead. Captain Foley signaled for Private Elder to go wide, right, while Hess moved forward on the trio. Though sometimes quiet when dressed in street clothes and shoes, there wasn't much stealthy about the big guy in full combat gear, and only halfway there he was noticed.

"Holy shit! That is one bad mother fucker!" The older and taller one said when he recognized Hess and the three weapons the big guy was carrying.

"Police? Here? Thank God! I was starting to get worried!" the one lady among the three said.

"Not quite police, but deputized for a certain job," Hess noted after he recognized the mid-atlantic accent of a New Jersey resident. "Where you three hail from?"

"New Jersey," the lady said.

"Alabama," the older guy noted.

"Arizona," the one with the backpack said. "You're either Tennessee or Kentucky. Trying to get out?"

"Trying to clear it out," Hess answered. "What about you?"

"She was captured by slavers," the Arizonan said. "The tall guy grabbed the wrong train at the station late one night, and I was trying to help a friend recover his sister from this train, but he was killed some time ago and I never found the sister."

"You are sure it is this train?" Hess asked.

"Yeah, we followed her attacker onto the train, but never found her," the guy said. "We've been trying to find her."

"She's likely still on this train," Hess answered, even though he had no solid reason to say so. "We've been deliberately searching and clearing the train as we go. No slaver left alive. You have a picture of her?"

"Yeah, here," the guy with the backpack (college student, at a guess) pulled his backpack forward and extracted his laptop. After a few seconds to wake it from sleep mode, he logged in with a lengthy password and was in on the desktop. "Here, my background picture is a pic of myself, my buddy, and his sister, as well as two others. The brunette is it." He held the laptop out to where Hess could easily see it.

"Nope, not remembering her from our prior sweep. She's probably still forward of here," Hess noted. "If you three want to run with me, you're more than welcome. Keep an eye out for her, and grab her if you see her. If you see the slaver, point the tango out and I'll drop it where it stands."

"Thanks, mister," the student said. "Jeff Evans. You help me find her, I'll find a way to pay you back."

"Erich Hess. We'll worry about rescue fees later, for now focus on finding her or the slaver. Preferably both."

CAR 126 (1234) (Baths, Gender-Split) (Evacuated 15 Civilians)  
CAR 127 (1237) (House Car) (Evacuated 13 Civilians)  
CAR 128 (1240) (Dining Car) (Evacuated 26 Civilians)

Hess was not the first into the next car, mainly because Sergeant Moody pointed out that the hesitation he was now showing could be fatal in an ambush scenario. So, Private Elder and Tyee took over the entry team detail from Hess, allowing him to fall back to the rear of the operations group but ahead of the evacuees.

Still, even behind the leading edge, Hess could easily hear the various cheers of the occupants in the car. "Hail to the Americans' team!" someone shouted. The cheering increased when Captain Foley and Erich entered the room.

"Jeff, up front," Hess waved him forward to the food counter. "Break out your laptop. I have an idea."

"Got it," Jeff said. Quickly, he had the laptop opened and woke.

"Chef, can you identify this lady?" Hess indicated the girl in question by pointing with a .303 British round over the top frame of the laptop.

"Erm, yeah, yeah!" the cook said. "She just went through here about ten minutes ago or so, in a group of seven or eight with three Slavers escorting them. Bad business, those slavers."

"Outstanding. Thanks, cookie," Hess said. "Time to move, guys! We ain't got daylight to waste!" Hess did a 'brass check' on his Enfield rifle, then rammed the bolt back into battery. "I want the slavers captured or dead, and the hostages alive!"

Hess wouldn't admit it to anyone, but the prospect of a clear mission and a rescue was what he wanted. Anything to take his mind off the Gunfight at the Kiddie Car.

CAR 129 (1243) (Seats, 2 levels) (Evacuated 5 Bravo Mafia)  
CAR 130 (1246) (Seats, 1 Level) (Evacuated 1 Civilian)  
CAR 131 (1249) (Seats, 1 Level)  
CAR 132 (1251) (Seats, 1 Level)  
CAR 133 (1253) (Seats, 1 Level)

"What the fuck?" one of the occupants of the car ahead half-shouted after Moody and Martin entered ahead of everyone else.

"Oh shit! It's the American and his gang!" An elder guy wailed after he realized who entered.

"Don't tell me you're going to start shit again," Hess said to the man wearing the Alpha Mafia colors on his tie.

"Fuck no, son, do I look crazy to you?" the Alpha Mafia 'lead' said. "I may have been one of Capone's enforcers, but I ain't even going to think about shooting it out with Paratroops or crazy future militiamen."

"Capone's crew? Now that is an interesting thing to put on one's résumé," Tyee said with a hint of shock to voice.

"Indeed; had I a need for a hard man with hard skills, I would offer you a position," Erich acknowledged. "Will you allow my team and the tail of extracted persons safe passage?" Hess asked.

"Yeah, go ahead," he waved the group on. "None of the gangs like the Slavers, but none of the mafiosi can consistently challenge them. You guys are in a league well above them, which makes you the right group for the job."

Hess chuckled. "We do what we can," he commented as he passed the group. "Tyee, Asako, form up the rearguard. I don't want any slavers or anyone else trying to crawl up our six."

"On it," Asako and Alexander both stepped aside to help direct traffic while they waited for the end of the line.

The Kentuckian, now of proper spirits to continue his purpose, took the lead again. _Guess all I needed was some vindication that not all hope is lost_, Hess thought to himself.

CAR 134 (1256) (Seats, 1 Level)  
CAR 135 (1258) (Baths, Individual Stalls (20)  
CAR 136 (1300) (Double-Sleeper Car, 9 rooms)  
CAR 137 (1302) (Baths, Gender-Split)  
CAR 138 (1304) (House Car)  
CAR 139 (1306) (Lounge Car)  
CAR 140 (1308) (Seats, 2 Level)  
CAR 141 (1310) (Seats, 2 Level) (Evacuated 10 Bravo Mafia, 3 Delta Mafia)

Martin was the man to trip the latch on the door, but Hess was standing over his shoulder with rifle downrange to add to the firepower if needed.

"Jackpot," Martin said.

"Yeah, that's them," Hess said after he recognized their symbol on the back of their body armor. "See three: two shoving girls out the window, one guarding." The girl being presently shoved out the window was resting with all her might their efforts, since she knew what was to become of her, but for a ten-year-old against two adults, there was little hope of successful resistance.

"Martin, get the sentry. Hess, drop one of the others," Captain Foley said.

"On it," Hess answered. "You first, Martin."

**CRACK** was followed less than a full second later by **CRACK**, the bark of a Springfield and an Enfield in close. The sentry went down with a headshot to the base of the skull, the far-side window-evacuator was dropped by a round that went through his shoulder and into his chest cavity. Both troops dropped to the ground in less than a second, and the third Slaver turned to the source of the shot with fright in her eyes. Martin and Hess both engaged her, two chest shots that punched through her older-style IIIA body armor and caused her to drop into the seat she was standing at.

"Go go go! Some of the hostages are already — SHIT!" Moody shouted before he ducked down below the level of aim of a fourth and previously unknown Slaver in the room.

She loosed part of a burst of sub-machinegun rounds towards the group, but after the third round she collapsed to the ground, twitching, as one of the hostages shocked her with a taser. Hess immediately recognized her as the primary subject, Cynthia Williams, and her use of the taser was picture-perfect.

"Tangos right! They're trying to clear the hostages!" Hess indicated a military-style transport truck that had driven up to the side of the train.

"Drop that driver! Martin!" Captain Foley ordered.

"Yessir!" Martin moved forward enough that he could aim through the open window out to the driver's compartment of the truck. One shot, one dead driver.

Hess stopped two seats shy of the open window, turned to the closed window next to him, and drove the bayonet on his Enfield Rifle forward against it. The glass was tempered safety glass, hardened but brittle, and the sharpened point of his rifle bayonet easily smashed through and caved out most of the window. He kneeled his right leg onto the seat next to him, shouldered in the rifle, and took aim at the nearest of the buyers. One shot, from five yards relative distance away, was easily placed in his head.

One of the buyer's foot-soldiers drew a shamshir sword and made for the rifle and bayonet sticking out the side of the train now, but Private Elder put paid to him with three rounds of .30 Carbine to the chest. Hess was back on his rifle and put sights on another foot soldier to the buyer, this one with an old Arquebus that was fired in his general direction. Hess flinched when the bullet punched out the glass to his immediate left, but a headshot at ten yards was an easy wound to inflict for the Kentuckian. Stupidly easy, such as it was.

"Incoming, sir! Dust cloud in the distance!" Private Martin shouted.

"They'll be here any minute. Firing line, starboard side of the train!"

Hess looked back toward the rest of the team (his entry team, such as he thought of them). "Tyee, out the window and get those girls inside! We can't defend them if they're out there, and they can't get out of that truck!"

Tyee flinched briefly, but his reaction did not last long. "On it, sir!" Tyee shouted before he set his Steyr AUG aside. To get out the double-hung window frame, Tyee grabbed a hold on the passenger rails in the ceiling, jumped up, and pivoted on his grip to effectively jump through the window frame feet first. The safety frame of the window broke out under his weight and inertia, and he went to the ground almost unhindered.

"Martin! Hess! Mancowitz! Second floor! Shoot 'em as they bear!" Captain Foley said as he and Moody received the first of the girls from the back of the truck.

"Yes sir!" Hess shouted before he backed off his window and headed for the central staircases. He pelted up the stairs behind Mancowitz, and went left at the top to clear the rear of the truck for a mostly-unobstructed field of fire. "MAKE WAY! MAKE WAY!" He shouted as he approached some Delta Mafia troops, who readily cleared the way of the massive American so he could go toward the rear of the train car second floor unhindered. When he reached the fourth seat from the rear, he turned in to the starboard-side seat and did the same glass-breaking maneuver as prior — he punched through the tempered glass with a bayonet, then braced the rifle down on the rail of the window frame.

"Hess, if you've got a shot, take it!" Martin shouted.

"I've got nothing yet, they're still coming in hard!" Hess saw movement at the back of the truck. "Tyee! What's the holdup?"

"Sir, there's twenty in the back of this truck, not four!"

"Fuck!" Hess shouted. "Clear 'em all as fast as you can! We'll cover you!"

"Elder! Get out there and assist!" Captain Foley shouted.

"Coming your way, Hess!" Mancowitz shouted before he drove the muzzle brake of the Diemaco C9A1 through the window two down from Hess. "Oh, I like this view a lot better."

"Here," Hess said before he lifted the flap off his TUFF 8-in-line magazine pouch for AR-15 (STANAG (1), technically) magazines, and pulled four of the magazines to pass over to Mancowitz. "You'll need these more than I will."

"Um, belt fed?" Mancowitz noted of his shanghaied light machine gun.

"Dual feed. Once the belt runs out, pull the belt box and feed in the bottom."

"Got it," the rump Light machine-gunner answered.

"They close enough," Martin shouted. He was first on the trigger, a solid hit to the driver's side window of one of the vehicles in the convoy. One shot, one dead driver which resulted in a rolled vehicle; after the first roll, Hess could see bodies of enemy infantry being thrown from the truck as it continued to pinwheel across the dusts and rough ground.

Hess held his fire. Unlike the original-specification ammo for the Enfield, his custom loads suffered from bad ballistic coefficients and lost both velocity and power rapidly beyond 200 yards. The flip side of the coin, terminal ballistics and slug mushrooming of those custom rounds, usually meant that his rifle rounds were one-shot-one-kill slugs inside of 100 yards, and usually one-shot-fatal at 100 to 200 yards. Militarily he was not supposed to use mushrooming rounds due to the Hague Convention treaties, but his munitions preparations were for conflicts where the Hague Convention did not apply. This, defending a rescue op for hostages against slave purchasers, was definitely not covered under the Hague or Geneva Conventions.

Martin tried dropping the driver of the second vehicle, another transport truck, but his shot impacted the window divider between panes and failed to injure anyone. Mancowitz opened up at 300 yards, using his Canadian SAW to punch out short bursts of 5.56mm LAP rounds into the truck bed and the driver's compartment. By the time the truck finally stopped at 200 yards, he had killed the driver and the passenger of the truck, which wasn't very solid consolation when the enemy infantry began clearing the truck bed.

At this point, Hess opened up with his rifle since they were now technically in range for his ammo to do some good. One shot, one kill, and the targeted trooper did not stand up after he was knocked down. His buddies were seriously shocked to see one of their own go down from a gunshot at the range fromthe train, and several even returned fire with their matchlock arquebus, but the return fire only struck the side of the train once in twelve shots at that range.

Mancowitz didn't fire in one long burst of 5.56 lethality. He fired a more controlled three-and-four round burst with each pull of the trigger, making good use of the integral telescopic sight on the Diemaco C9 product so as to maximize lethality. Martin spoke up with his rifle, and Hess could recognize the unique bark of the Garand rifles from the windows below, making for a chaotic sound of fire coming from the side of the train. The Kentuckian simply dropped one round after the next into the tangos on the far side of his gunsights, until the two troop trucks' worth of enemy infantry were down and dead.

"That's how its done!" Mancowitz shouted. "I have GOT to get me one of these for killing Krauts!"

"Martin, Hess, Mancowitz, down here!" Captain Foley shouted.

Hess stepped back from the window and started toward the central stairs. On the way, he pulled two chargers of Enfield ammo from his ammo bag, rammed one charger into the rifle, rammed the second one home, then dropped the two charger clips in the drop pouch on his left-leg thigh platform. The clips were hard to come by for Enfield rifles, much more so than decent ammo in 2015, and Hess made it a policy to retain the clips when not actively in a firefight.

"How's it going, Captain?" Erich asked after he landed on the bottom floor.

"Almost done. The rescues are cycling into the tail right now, so we're pretty much done here."

"Tyee! What are you doing?" Hess asked as the golden-haired guy was shaking down the dead 'buyer' for valuables.

"This dickhead is dead, boss, and I'm pretty sure he won't need these inside the gates of Hell," Tyee answered, holding up some rather stunning rings. "And, if you want to hire the talent necessary to find the home locations for the evacuees, you're going to need money — liquid assets or fungible metals."

"Never thought of it that way," Erich admitted. "Damn! And I've walked past some pretty hefty jewelry on my way up the train. Oh well, I'll think of something." He looked back out the window. "Hurry up stripping the rich bastard and get your ass back in this train!"

"Coming, sir!" Tyee said.

"Well, that's our good deed for the day," Hess said, waving a finger at Cynthia Williams and Jeff Evans. The rescued lady had charged down Jeff when she recognized him for a tackle and hug, which drove them both into a seat on the port-side of the train. Jeff had finished the fourth slaver off with an old combat knife, so the threat was effectively done. "Damn pity we can't go home and have a whiskey sour, call it a day."

"Pfft," Sergeant Moody sputtered. "This is the Army, son. It ain't never that easy."

Hess simply chuckled as he moved forward toward the next car. To those around him, it was a sound borne of part humor, part resignation, and part strangeness. Those nearest the door heard him humming some manner of tune that nobody recognized before he hunkered down to open up for the next car…

CAR 142 (1322) (Seats, 1 Level)  
CAR 143 (1324) (Seats, 2 Level) (Evacuated 2 civilians)  
CAR 144 (1327) (Seats, 2 Level)

"And what's behind this next door? Only the Fates shall know, at least until…" Hess let his sentence trail off after the door slid partially open and he actually saw what was behind the door. "Okay, then, I think I need a change of underwear."

"Oh! It's the American!" the lady behind the tripod-mounted weapon said. "Sorry! We thought all the gunfire was Slavers or Deltas."

"No, that was us killing some Slavers a few cars back," Private Elder said. "Can you point that thing away? And what is it?"

"Mark 19 Automatic Grenade Launcher," Hess identified the weapon. "That thing is designed to skull-fuck all manner of light targets, infantry, vehicles, you name it. Fires three grenades a second out to a little under a thousand yards, if I remember correctly."

"Damn good guess, big guy," a lady in Army Desert fatigues said from the rear of the group. "Jones, Sergeant Major, 555th Armored Cavalry Regiment, Negev Red Flag Training Facility. Since I was foolish enough to board this train to investigate, I've been helping the Bravos try to clean up. You?"

"Captain Foley, 509th Paratrooper Infantry Regiment, Normandy in '44," said Captain answered her challenge.

"Hess, Kentucky Unorganized Militia, on assignment as Deputy to the Claiborne County Sheriffs to track down a Slaver that attacked county residents and killed an escapee from this train. Year 2015."

"2015? Whoa. I was from 1996. What's 2015 like?" She asked. "Things gotten any more sci-fi or Trekkie in those years?"

"No, actually the country went 1984 on us. The Government went apeshit with domestic surveillance under a jackoff Republican from 01 to 09, and then was kicked into full-blown paranoid spy-on-the-people overdrive by a narcissist Democrat from 09 to 15. America in 2015 is not even close to America in '96, and is a far sight from the America of '44."

"Wow, that sucks," Sergeant Major Jones answered. "Wish I could help, but I don't even know how to get back to my time. I even miss that smooth asshole President Fowler."

_HOLY FUCK ME SIDEWAYS_, Hess shouted inside the confines of his mind, but didn't say anything physically. _Tom Clancy's fiction series is reality somewhere else in Existence? I'd consider this another techno-geek's wet dream, if that shit wasn't excessively scary_, he ran the thought out a bit. After all, in Hess' history, the last population center hit with a nuclear weapon was Nagasaki; in Sum of All Fears, that dubious distinction would be Denver and almost became Tehran had the main character of the book not countermanded Fowler's order to launch a nuclear strike against Iran…

"Where'd you vote? Fowler or his opponent?" the Sergeant Major asked.

Hess smiled. "I was 11 in '96. If I did have a chance to vote, though, it would have been for the opposition," Hess played it out as if he was in the know. "Fowler was too slimy for my tastes, reminded me of the Chicago political machine way too much."

"Yeah, but, at least he was effective, got some things cleaned up," she noted.

"Meh," Hess answered. "Anyway, we're headed for the engines to drop the train somewhere stable. Willing to let us pass?"

"No problem." Several of the other ladies helped crab-walk the Mark 19 out of the way.

CAR 145 (1330) (Double Sleeper Car, 9 rooms)  
CAR 146 (1332) (Baths, Gender-split)  
CAR 147 (1334) (Single Sleeper Car, 15 rooms) (Evacuated 13 Civilians)  
CAR 148 (1337) (Baths, Gender-split)  
CAR 149 (1339) (House Car)  
CAR 150 (1341) (Storage Car)  
CAR 151 (1343) (Seats, 1 Level)  
CAR 152 (1345) (Seats, 1 Level)  
CAR 153 (1347) (Seats, 2 Level) (Evacuated 8 Alpha Mafia)  
CAR 154 (1350) (Seats, 1 Level) (Evacuated 1 Civilian)  
CAR 155 (1353) (Seats, 2 Level) (Evacuated 7 Delta Mafia)  
CAR 156 (1356) (Single Sleeper Car, 15 rooms)  
CAR 157 (1358) (Baths, Gender-split)  
CAR 158 (1400) (Single Sleeper Car, 15 rooms)  
CAR 159 (1402) (Baths, Individual Stalls, 20)  
CAR 160 (1404) (House Car)

"You know, I'm wondering if we ever need extra housing, we could just put these house cars on rails somewhere and make something like a trailer park of house cars," Private Elder considered aloud.

"Utilities and roads into such a park, self-contained housing, and maybe put a tug engine on the rails to move the cars around on a small rail network," Hess amplified the idea. "And, if the house car owner gets pissed off with his landlord, he can always rail his car down to a different house car park where the landlord isn't such an asshole. Kinda like mobile homes, just on rails instead of wheels."

"There you go, Elder. Future landlord of a house car train park," Sergeant Moody noted.

"Hess, this look familiar to you?" Tyee held up a weapon that he found in one of the corners of the kitchen's counters.

"Oh hell yes it does," Erich answered immediately. "That is an unmodified M60 light machine gun. Used extensively by the United States and some allies after the Korean War but phased out in the 1980s. Jams like a bitch some days, but when it works it will throw up a solid wall of lead."

"I've already got a good one," and Tyee indicated his Steyr AUG. "Who wants it?"

"I'll take it," Jeff Evans said. "Like I said, I'll pay you guys back for helping out with the rescue."

"Make sure you be damn careful where you're throwing that lead, man," Hess said. "Those .308 rounds are only a fraction behind the .30-06 rounds used by these things," and the Kentuckian rapped a knuckle on the stock of one of the M1 Garand rifles. "Pass it over this way, Tyee." Hess relayed the heavy weapon over to Jeff.

"Whoa, just as heavy as I thought it would be," Jeff said.

"Welcome to the informal team," Hess welcomed him before he continued down the car.

"Does that mean you're working on a formal team?" Captain Foley asked as the two approached the door to the next car.

"I may end up having to build one, for one of several reasons," Hess answered before he tripped the next door with his bayonet blade.

CAR 161 (1407) (Dining Car) (Evacuated 1 Civilian)  
CAR 162 (1410) (Seats, 2 Levels)  
CAR 163 (1412) (Seats, 1 Level)  
CAR 164 (1414) (Seats, 1 Level)  
CAR 165 (1416) (Seats, 1 Level)  
CAR 166 (1418) (Seats, 2 Levels)  
CAR 167 (1420) (Double-Sleeper Car, 9 Rooms) (Evacuated 3 Bravo Mafia)  
CAR 168 (1422) (Baths, Gender-split)  
CAR 169 (1424) (Single-Sleeper Car, 15 room) (Evacuated 14 civilians)  
CAR 170 (1427) (Baths, Gender-split)  
CAR 171 (1429) (House Car)  
CAR 172 (1431) (Lounge Car)

"Lounge car, bar, couple pool tables," Sergeant Moody said half-wistfully.

"I hear that. Take ten, boys. End of the train isn't going anywhere," Captain Foley said. "Let's grab a table, Hess, Cyrene."

"Lead the way, Cap'n," Hess said heartily. Foley picked a table in the far corner of the room, not particularly isolated from the rest of the lounge tables, but not easily overheard. "So, what's the discussion of the hour?"

"Do you have a solid plan for what we do when we get to the end of the train? Is the jumping reversible?" Captain Foley asked.

"I can answer the latter question," Cyrene piped up. "The train will remember its past routes, but when executing random jumps, they cannot backtrack along the same routes they take. All the routes are relative. Reconstructing or deconstructing where a train has been is most easily done by a Temporal Psychic, not a jump engineer."

"So, essentially, no easy way to see what went where, and we call in a psychic that can find our homes. So, how much does one of these Temporal Psychics charge?" Hess asked.

"The standard rate is a million c-bills a gig, if you go by Guild Psionics. You can find freelancers for less, if you are willing to protect them from Guild reprisal, but don't expect them to operate for less than 750 grand a gig."

"Okay, what's the buying power of a C-bill? A million yen is a fraction of my annual salary, and a trillion Zimbabwe dollars is less than a hamburger at the diner next door to my company's main building," Erich said.

"Ah, fun with exchange rates," Cyrene smiled in an evil fashion. "The rule of thumb for the C-bill is 1 C-bill is roughly equivalent to 3 dollars United States in 1999."

Hess visibly deflated when the buying power of the stated currency was put into perspective. "That's a shit-ton of money, sadly. The exchange rate would be a lot better in Captain Foley's America, but even that would be a difficult challenge to meet just once, much less several times."

"So, now, we need residence, and we need some way to make money to acquire such services," Captain Foley said. "Soliciting for ideas."

"The big, obvious option would be to claim refugee status with the Star League," Cyrene noted.

"Next?" Hess said, utterly unwilling to claim refugee status to an interdimensional analog of the UN.

"Hrm," Cyrene groused. "This… might get messy, but it is an option."

"Listening," Hess prompted her. He had plenty of suspicion on the word 'messy' as used in this case, and none of them good suspicions, but he was always willing to listen to options.

"The Star League, in their categoric ineptitude of all things governance, have effectively vacated command and control of several planets that they alone have control over. Sort of like the trains, they claim dominion but they have no boots or actual authority over the lands in question. The SLDF, like usual, built themselves some infrastructure on the planets but vacated it when the commanding general refused to let his forces be chopped to ribbons by the gangs and thugs on planet for no apparent gain."

"Heavy enemy forces?" The Kentuckian asked, slightly worried if a professional spacefaring army was getting its arse beat in place.

"No, political appointees. Extremely restrictive rules of engagement. Supply shortages. Shit like that. Kind of like the Russians operating in Afghanistan. They went in with bad policies and unclear objectives, got their asses kicked hard, and then just sat there failing to accomplish anything worth talking about."

"Afghanistan, redux 2003 United States isn't far behind," Hess noted drolly. "Okay, planet's hell, but there are resources in place. That gets us residence. What are the options for making some money on…" Hess allowed his sentence to trail off. "Okay, I think I'm reading this one loud and clear."

"What are you thinking, big guy?" Captain Foley asked.

"There is a claim of dominion, but no legitimate authority on planet. We go in, we clean up, we find someone who is willing to recognize statehood, or we just emancipate the planet ourselves, and at that point we can begin using our statehood to do more than a few things worth talking about. Clean up the planet. Stop the trains. Clear the trains. Track down and disassemble the Slavers' Guild. Interplanetary, interdimensional commerce. Stuff like that. When you have people willing to work at it, and when you have an imagination worth talking about, and some way to transport commerce, you have nearly infinite ways to make money."

"Ah," Captain Foley said.

"That is the reason why Congress has the power to regulate interstate commerce, to prevent the individual states from choking off the flow of business and people," Hess pointed out. "All we need now is a destination and some sort of priming option to get things rolling. Any ideas?" Erich asked the lady at the table.

"Like I said, I am military but I refuse to name what group… for the time being. If we can get to an interdimensional communications point, a ComStar HyperPulse Generator or a Black Box System, I can call in some horsepower to get things rolling."

"Excellent," Hess considered. "Do you happen to know of any of these planets that are vacated but have a functional commo point?"

"I do," she admitted. "When we get to the train engine control, we'll drop in. I even know which military base on planet would make an excellent starting point for your plan."

The Kentuckian looked to the Paratrooper. "Whenever you're ready, Captain Foley."

CAR 173 (1445) (Seats, 1 Level)  
CAR 174 (1447) (Seats, 2 Level)  
CAR 175 (1449) (Seats, 2 Level)  
CAR 176 (1451) (Seats, 2 Level)  
CAR 177 (1453) (Seats, 2 Level)  
CAR 178 (1455) (Double Sleeper car, 9 rooms)

"Now that sounds lovely," Sergeant Moody groused.

"Doesn't sound all that consensual to me," Hess said. "Bust a move, Sergeant."

Moody opened the door to the next car in the same fashion that Hess always did: with the tip of his bayonet. Moody remained stationary, aiming from cover into the exposed hallway area that looped to starboard. The actual train sleeper rooms would be on the port side, which everyone could easily tell was where the bulk of the noise was coming from.

Hess moved forward to the edge of the sleeper cars and took position at the corner. Halfway down the car length, one lady stood alone against the starboard wall of the car, wearing body armor and armed with what appeared to be a 1911 at distance.

"I want to see some hands, lady!" Hess shouted as Private Elder closed up behind him. "HANDS UP! DROP THE WEAPON!" He bellowed when she started to raise the pistol in his direction.

"Don't shoot! Jesus! I surrender!" she announced after Jeff entered the field of fire with the M60.

"Set the weapon down, hands on top of your head!" Hess ordered coldly. She complied quickly enough. "Face the front of the train!" She hesitated a moment, but turned toward the front. "Walk backwards slowly to my voice." Hess kept his rifle centered on her back. "Keep looking forward! Just walk back towards me, I will tell you when to stop!" She did as ordered, pacing slowly so she maintained her balance. "Hold there."

"What the hell is going on?" she asked. "Who are you guys?"

"Kentucky Militia," Hess answered curtly. "Elder, check her for other weapons."

"On it," Elder said as he closed up on the lady. He safed and slung his M1 Carbine, instead opting for the 1911 in close since he could maneuver it faster if needed. When he got in close, the Private grabbed a hold point on the back of her body armor and buried the muzzle into the small of her back, just below the bottom edge of her body armor. "Down to your knees, lady," Elder ordered.

"Hey! I charge people for that! No fair!" she misinterpreted his comment.

"Like you're charging the Johns in these cars?" Hess asked.

"Well, yes?" She answered.

"I'm sorry, but this didn't sound consensual to any of us," Elder commented sarcastically. "Stop bullshitting us, girl," Elder's left hand found and pulled a small semi-auto pistol from her back left jeans pocket.

"Oh, that? That's Tiny Anna, third room, left side," the lady jerked her head at the door. "She always sounds like she's getting it hardstyle. Some guys pay double for it."

"HEY!" Someone farther down the car shouted. Hess immediately brought his rifle on target, but with no weapon in hand (and only panties on), he immediately aimed slightly aside since it was obvious she was just a belligerent, not an actual threat. "What the fuck are you doing to our scheduler?"

"Yeah! Let her go!" A different lady said from the fifth room. This one didn't even have the panties the first one claimed.

"Hey! If you're gonna feel up our boss, you'd better be paying!" a lady in the third room shouted. Hess could readily tell where the apropos 'tiny' in the name Tiny Anna came from.

"I believe you were saying something about making money, Hess?" Captain Foley said.

"To each his own, or in this case, her own," Hess groused in significant embarrassment. "I totally misread this one."

"What were you trying to do?" the lady in the body armor asked.

"From back there, it sounded like someone was getting raped," Hess answered. "I was going to stop it. I mean, this is a volunteer effort, right?" Hess asked. "You, Tiny Anna is your name, I take it?" Hess asked, indicating the lady with the large rack three doors down from him.

"Yeah, big guy, so?"

"You volunteered for this gig, right?" He asked calmly.

"Damn straight I did!" She grimaced. "What? You think I'd do this pro boner when I carry a nine and a backup piece at all times?"

"I think you mean pro bono, but I follow." Just from listening to her, Hess could tell why she would sound like she was being forcibly taken. Her voice was in that range that would have caught attention anywhere in Existence. "Elder, let 'er loose."

"Sir?" the Private asked the Sergeant.

"Yeah, go ahead," Moody followed up the order. "If it's all volunteer, I don't think we have a say in it."

"Got it." Elder holstered his pistol and stepped back to allow the lady to stand.

"You… seriously thought my girls were getting forced?" the lady with the body armor asked.

"I did," Hess said coldly.

"And you intended to step into it? To stop an attack on my girls?"

"Also yes." Erich took a moment to transition grip on his rifle, so he had his left finger looped in the trigger guard, the forearm of the rifle on his left bicep and the muzzle / bayonet was aiming over his left shoulder into the ceiling.

"You're fucking crazy, you know that? People get killed on these trains for trying to be that heroic," she said, almost speechless by finding someone of that character on the train.

"Not the first time I've been called crazy today," he acknowledged before he walked past the lady. "Must be the cost of being an American. Crazy enough to try defending others." Without further word, Hess stacked on the far door to make entry into the next car.

Nobody in the entry / paratrooper team had a clue that their purpose would send echoes throughout the Bravo Mafia.

CAR 179 (1502) (Baths, Gender-Split)  
CAR 180 (1504) (Single Sleeper Car, 15 rooms) (Evacuated 6 civilians)  
CAR 181 (1507) (Baths, Gender-Split) (Evacuated 3 Civilians, 1 Bravo Mafia)  
CAR 182 (1510) (House Car) (Evacuated 1 Civilian)  
CAR 183 (1513) (Dining Car)  
CAR 184 (1515) (Seats, 1 Level)  
CAR 185 (1517) (Seats, 1 Level) (Evacuated 3 Delta Mafia)  
CAR 186 (1520) (Seats, 2 Level)  
CAR 187 (1522) (Seats, 1 Level)  
CAR 188 (1524) (Seats, 2 Level)  
CAR 189 (1526) (Double Sleeper Car, 9 rooms)  
CAR 190 (1528) (Baths, Individual Stalls, 20) (Evacuated 14 civilians)  
CAR 191 (1531) (Double Sleeper Car, 9 rooms)  
CAR 192 (1533) (Baths, Gender-Split)  
CAR 193 (1535) (House Car)  
CAR 194 (1537) (Lounge Car (Charlie Mafia controlled))  
CAR 195 (1539) (Seats, 1 Level)

Before the door even completely slid open, someone had fired a round of .357 at the opening door. "Shit!" Moody shouted from behind Hess, who ducked through the door and left to take cover before the door was completely open.

"Give 'em hell, boys!" Captain Foley ordered as he forced entry behind his Thompson, spraying in their general direction. He clipped one guy in the chest before he ducked behind cover to reload, a large guy with a large revolver and nothing else to his name.

Hess ducked out from behind the seat he was covered behind, his eyes and mind working overtime to identify the primary threats. A guy with a large, unidentified assault rifle and another Alpha Mafiosi with a Mp5 product rated highest of those he could see. Jeff jumped in behind Hess before he could bring the rifle out to fire, which temporarily delayed him, but a good quick shot at the puke with the assault rifle resulted in a hard kill-shot to the chest.

"Jeff! Get that Sixty downrange and throw — " Erich was cut off by a burst from the enemy SMG, most of which failed to penetrate the seat he was behind, except for the last two rounds. One round caught him in the right shoulder, the other an inch left and half-an inch lower — the top of his right lung. The first round hit him mostly intact, but the second round fragmented off the edge of his shotgun receiver, achieving only skin-and-muscle penetration, nothing more.

"MAN DOWN!" Foley shouted when he saw Hess slump away from the center aisle, streaking blood down the back of the seat behind him.

"HESS!" Cyrene shouted from beyond the door.

"I'M ALIVE!" Hess shouted, though anyone in the area could hear the pain in his voice. With some effort, he was able to brace back up to sitting. "Jeff, pull my pistol, please," Hess said, since he couldn't get to it with a damaged right shoulder.

"Sure, here," Jeffrey unbuttoned the holster retention strap and pulled the large-frame automatic. Hess received his Springfield XD Tactical in left hand, put the sights against his left thigh, and ran the pistol down the side of his leg to use the sights as a makeshift drag-grip to actuate the slide.

Asako forced her way in and right, her AK-101 assault rifle putting two pairs of rounds into the shooter that had hammered Erich. Two rounds in his right leg brought him down to ground level, two more rounds at the same level punched through his chest and knocked him out. "HESS! Be all right!" she shouted.

Tyee dumped two bursts of 5.56mm from his Steyr AUG into a guy standing tall with body armor, specifically IIIA Second Chance body armor that was not designed to stop any manner of rifle (except, maybe, a .30 Carbine round at range). Said tango tried standing after the three rounds in his leg, but he did not stand after three to the chest. His buddy tried taking vengeance for his downed comrade, but when he fired a round of 9mm from a Luger at Jeff, he missed only by dint of Jeff seeing the pistol aiming in his direction and ducked below the seat edge.

Hess fought through the pain of being shot, turned the corner around the edge of the seat, and brought the pistol up left-handed only to fire. He had drilled himself mercilessly over the years for this scenario, where he lost use of his right arm, and now that he had only his left arm to rely on it wasn't a theory any more. He slow-fired one round after the next at some young mafiosi with a large-frame revolver; after the third round, he clipped the guy in the chest with a .45 auto slug which dropped him cold, the revolver landed on the seat in front of his dead body.

His slow-fire was joined by a tear of automatic pistol fire from Sancia, whose pistol that he thought was a Glock 17 actually happened to be the select-fire Glock 18, its bigger and noisier full-automatic cousin. Despite the automatic fire rate, or probably because of it, she was nowhere near accurate hitting the guy with the Luger P08. 8 rounds downrange, nothing to show for it except two chewed-up metro seats and a busted out fluorescent light. After her show of sheer intimidation, though, Hess followed up with a waist shot on the same target, and a center chest shot on the one guy remaining with a revolver.

Private Martin had the last tango, one chest shot, followed up by Captain Foley who dropped a short burst into his waist and chest to seal the deal.

"You crazy American asshole!" Asako shouted at Hess after they were assured nobody was still alive. "Scare the shit out of us all!"

The Kentuckian didn't respond, really, so much as he dropped the magazine out of his pistol, gripped it between his knees, pulled a replacement magazine off his gear harness, and slammed it home. "My apologies, Asako," he said more at room volume than any manner of shout. "Jeff, would you be so kind as to reholster this?" He presented the pistol to Jeff grip-first.

"Can do," Jeff said after he received the pistol. It was fairly easy for him to holster, since Jeff was a lefty and was working against a right-side leg rig. Once in the holster, the aviation student snapped the retention snap closed, locking it in place.

"Captain, do you happen to have a medic in your group?" Hess asked next.

"No, just a couple guys trained in first aid."

"I've got this," Cyrene said as she pushed her way past Elder and Moody. "Turn around, please," she said. Hess did as ordered, so as to present the injury to her. "Okay, looks like one entered your shoulder, and the other broke up on your shotgun barrel and fragged into your back off that. Nothing serious."

"Well, my right arm is unusable, which is serious enough," Hess said with some notable pain to voice.

"I can correct this, but to do it right now, I need your permission to use an old Paladin skill, Laying on of Hands, to do it. I won't do so if you object; some people are sensitive about that for religious reasons."

Erich was silent for two seconds, weighing options. "I have no objection. Please begin when ready," he said.

"Very well." Hess jolted when she wrapped her hands around the two points of injury. "_**Holy order of the White Sword, channel unseen light and heal these wounds thus laid hands upon,**_" she said while focusing.

"Erm — oh, whoa," Captain Foley said. Hess could see his shadow on the wall from the light in question, but more to the point, after five seconds he could not feel any manner of injury to his arm. Ten seconds later, the glow was gone and so was any vestige of pain.

"That was… whoa," Hess nodded twice. "Feel a helluva lot better," he said after he flexed his arm and tested the range of shoulder motion.

"Looks like it cleared all the damage, and forced the slug bits out," Cyrene said as Hess turned to face her. "Hold your hand out." Hess did, and received the fragments of 10mm slugs and one intact but deformed slug that did the most damage. "That's what got you."

Hess rolled the slug and fragments around in hand for a moment. "Too big to be a 9, too small to be a .45, makes them either 40-caliber or 10mm. First time being shot, and it sucks just as bad as I imagined it. Like to avoid that if at all possible."

"Wise choice," Cyrene said. "That only works on wounds, not fatals. Part of my training in a prior life and job."

Hess nodded twice again. "You have my thanks for the quick-fix. I won't ask how you came about that skill, but if you want to volunteer the info, I will respect what you have to say regardless." Hess looked past Cyrene, to the rest of the team and trailing evacuees. "Alright, guys, daylight's still wasting. You know the drill. Salvage what is worth carrying, stack and move." Hess reached down to where he dropped his Enfield, wiped the blood splat off the stock, and brass-checked the chamber for the next entry action.

"Yes sir," Tyee nodded. "Hell, he loses use of his right arm and still managed to cap off three of 'em."

"Hey, anyone recognize this thing?" Sancia asked, holding up the large assault rifle with the unusual u-shaped magazine.

"Nope, never seen a rifle like that in my life," Hess answered as she approached. "Markings on the receiver?"

"Here," Sancia held it where Erich, Jeff, and Captain Foley could read it.

"M22 Automatic Rifle, 6mm Caseless, Global Defense Initiative Branson Arms Plant," Captain Foley read off the rifle frame.

Hess nodded twice. He recognized the name GDI, but he did not recognize the hardware at all. "You want it, you carry it. Looks like it should do the job pretty well."

CAR 196 (1541) (Engine)

Private Elder popped the door latch with the end of his carbine, then immediately shouldered in to be ready for anything…

…Which turned out to be open air, the first (Terran) daylight anyone had seen by direct eyes in some time. Of course, just beyond the open air and the short causeway, Hess could immediately recognize what he was looking at. "Oh, that is a dump-truck full of bollocks! I got shot literally in the last car before the engines! Whiskey Tango Foxtrot, over!"

"Now that is some serious irony," Captain Foley said. "All right, if we're this far forward, we just need to take these engines and get to our resort destination."

"Lookin' forward to it," Sergeant Moody said

"Eyes up and out, guys," Martin warned them. "We're in sight of the end. No sense getting shot this close to the door prizes."

"Speaking of doors," Cyrene said. "Hess, here," she tapped his right shoulder with a piece of gear. "This is a Cabin security override box. Plug it into the engine door locking system and it will break the security on the door for us."

"On it," Hess answered. He stepped out into the fresh air while unzipping his general purpose pouch. By the time he got around the bend and was walking alongside the engine on the perimeter causeway, he had the box secured and his pouch zipped again.

"Where the hell — America?"

"New York, 1930s maybe?" Hess asked in response to Captain Foley's question.

"At least we have spectators," Martin commented as he began the trudge down the causeway, indicating the rather large and diverse crowd of persons gathered around the train. Some persons gasped at the sight of heavily-armed men and women on the rails, but Hess paid them no heed. Already the progressive taint was beginning to take hold, the hoplophobia that would hallmark the anti-gun crusade and thus enable criminals in decades to come.

At the engine entrance, Hess plugged in the box, checked inside, and found nothing. The control system stated that the control engine was the lead engine.

"Your objective is in another engine," Tyee said sardonically.

"And the princess is always in a different castle," Hess said. "Kinda brings a new value to combat engineers. Wipe out the castles systematically, eventually the Princess will run out of forts to hide in. Victory by process of elimination default."

"Nice," Tyee said with a grim chuckle as the two stepped back out on the platform.

CAR 197 (1542) (Engine)

When Hess got around the causeway bridge, he was greeted with something he really didn't want to see. "Police!" the lead officer shouted, aiming down over the barrel of a shotgun at him.

"I am an American!" Hess shouted. "Permission to approach for parley?"

The officers looked amongst themselves, then back to the big guy in front of them. "You stand down that rifle, and you can approach!" the lead officer ordered.

"Wait one," Hess responded. "Tyee, hold these," Hess passed him the Enfield and the AR-15 Carbine. "If this gets messy, continue the mission over theirs, and probably my own, dead bodies. Follow?"

"Don't get dead on us, big guy," Alexander said.

"Here I go," Hess nodded twice, then stepped around the corner. He had deliberately braced his hands on top of his magazine pouches, so the police would readily see he was unarmed.

"Sweet Jesus, I was at Belleau Wood, but I ain't never carried a kit like that," the lead officer said.

"Different times, different wars, different training standards," Hess responded. "I am a Kentucky Militiaman, year 2015. I am here to remove this train to a location it cannot disgorge its contents into American territory, and render it incapable of moving again. May my men and I continue clearing the train engines?"

"You're here to remove this thing? You know how?" the detective in charge of the scene asked.

"I can figure out if I can get into the control systems," Hess answered.

"All right, you're the man on the scene," the detective said.

Hess looked back over his shoulder and whistled. "Captain Foley! Tyee! Move it up! We're cleared forward!"

"Yes sir!" Tyee shouted, hefting the rifles forward to bring them to Hess. "How the hell do you carry these things so long?" Tyee asked as Hess received first the AR-15, then the Enfield.

"Training, my friend, plenty of training. Stack for entry," Hess said as he pulled out the breaker box.

"Ready, big guy," Captain Foley answered.

Hess rammed the combo-break box into the control panel, then pressed the command button. After a moment, the panel switched over to door control, meaning the door was now unlocked. "Breaching!" Hess said after he thumbed the control.

Captain Foley was first to peek in with his weapon. He found only two living persons in the car, along with four recent dead bodies. "Nice handiwork, kids," he noted after he saw the gang colors of the Deltas on the dead.

"Thanks, Captain," one of the two occupants said. "The control cab is the front engine. We've got everything locked out here."

"And you know this how?" Hess asked suspiciously.

"For anyone with electronics skill, your crusade has been the single most entertaining thing on this train ride," the teen among the two survivors said, pointing to a wide-screen security monitor.

"Fair enough. I'll be back to pull you guys when we park this train permanently." Hess tripped the door latch. "Clear the next cab."

CAR 198 (1545) (Engine) (Evacuated 10 Alpha Mafia, 9 Delta Mafia)  
CAR 199 (1547) (Engine) (Evacuated 1 Civilian)  
CAR 200 (1548) (Engine)

"Last round, boys," Captain Foley said.

"We clear this one, we get control of the engine, this train is out of circulation — permanently," Hess said with a smile. "Makes getting shot through a damn metro liner seat all that much more worth it."

"Ready for entry, sir," Tyee said.

"Detective, hit that green button, please." As soon as the button was pressed, the door unbolted and slid open, granting them access.

Foley was the first inside, followed by Tyee, then Hess. The door entry was to the side of the car, so Hess entered and immediately turned right, toward the front of the engine.

"Oh shit!" the one guy in the room shouted. His shout caused a lady in the sleeper bed to shriek briefly, but she silenced herself when Tyee had his scope on her chest. "Hey hey! I surrender! Don't shoot!"

"Don't worry, old guy, we ain't going to cap you unless you ask for it," Hess said quickly before he stood down his rifle. "You the engineer of this hellwagon on rails?"

"Yes, son, I am," the older gent said. "I'll take you anyplace this thing will go, if you don't drop the hammer on me."

"Good," Cyrene said as she entered behind the troops. "Have you programmed a destination yet?"

"No, ma'am, I have not," he said quickly.

"Hess, grab the breaker box," Cyrene said.

"On it," Hess set his Enfield against the starboard-side wall of the engineer's compartment, then ducked outside. Once out on the catwalks again, it was a simple pull to remove the breaker box from the control panel for the door and step back inside. "Here," he passed it over to the mysterious lady in their presence.

She plugged the box into a similar interface on the Gate Engine control panel, then plugged a secondary extension wire into the main computer control panel and a third wire into the fusion reactor (!) control panel. "You're gonna override the whole system, honey?" the Engineer asked.

"Have to, to achieve what I want to do. These things are presently defaulted to Relative Gate protocol, I need to force-feed the control system to go to an exact location," Cyrene explained even while she was selection menu options on the breaker box.

"That's some pretty hard shit, honey," the Engineer said. "Who're you working for?"

"For sure, it ain't the bastards in the Star League General Council," Cyrene said. "And… done! I have control of the system completely now."

"So, where to? White sand beaches and palm trees?" Sergeant Moody asked from the doorway.

"Nah, no bases on planet close to such a fun spot," Cyrene said. "Okay, here's the scoop, guys. I'm dropping this train on planet Terra 232. It's like what we discussed in the lounge, only the SLDF pulled out about six months ago. That means the assholes on planet haven't consolidated, and the infrastructure should be very fresh and mostly intact. You follow?"

"Good to go," Hess answered with a smile.

"We're going to drop into Base Erlanger, on the Western Continent. It is a massive rail head fortress, the end of the line for a lot of the rail traffic on the continent. We're going to drop into the base undercroft, where they engineered it to accept 3000-car freight trains. We'll have plenty of space. All we need to do is go upstairs into the base proper, secure the command building and HPG, and it's game on."

"What part of the Star League do you work for?" Hess asked after a moment. Given her planning and black ops gear for hijacking the train, she was not simply 'run of the mill' military from somewhere else in Existence…

"Certainly not the SLDF," she said coldly. "I am part of the Star League, officially, but that is all I will say for now."

"Fair enough," Hess said, still unwilling to press on the issue. He was reasonably certain this was not some kind of trick or trap, but as to the veracity of the standing plan, well, the lead knot in Hess' stomach was beginning to do back-flips over the matter…

"How long until we jump?" Alexander asked from behind Sergeant Moody.

"8 minutes, 40 seconds," the Jump Engineer noted. "Get everyone buttoned up and anyone not leaving with the train off it."

"Alexander, Tyee, traffic control," Hess ordered. "I want everyone going along back in the train proper and settled down, everyone not going along is to get off and get back. That includes you, Detective," Hess said to the senior officer. "Cyrene, Captain Foley, can you guys keep things clear here?"

"Can do. What about you?" Cyrene asked.

"I think I'll go check out the 1930s, briefly. There's an ice cream parlor across — " Hess cut his sentence short when his eyes crossed over something expected but initially unrecognized. "And there fuck is."

"What?" Alexander asked in bewilderment.

"The train visibility controls." Hess moved over to the panel. "Engineer, how do these work?"

"Select the visible cars in the train, in this case I selected 200, 0, 66, and 141. Everything else exists in compressed space between those visible cars," the Engineer said.

"This lever here disables the whole system?" Hess asked, pointing to a mechanical - electrical bypass lever.

"Yes. You throw that lever, after the next jump the whole train is in place," the engineer said.

"Does it do anything in the here and now?" Hess asked for clarification.

"No, won't do anything to a landed train — you have to jump before that takes effect," he assured the Kentuckian.

"Okay," Hess said with a smile. He dropped the lever, which changed the display to show 'system disabled after next jump'. When the lever dropped, it indexed with a lock point for a lock to secure it (Lock-out / tag-out), to which the Kentuckian smiled.

Inside his large general-purpose pouch, Erich commonly kept two or three disposable padlocks on hand, basically as obfuscation devices — a lot of easy entries or exits could be closed and held closed simply by adding a padlock. It wouldn't stop a smart enemy for long, but it did the job in a pinch for gaining a few seconds. In this case, though, it would make a handy safety measure to make sure the whole train was visible and ready to be cleared / scrapped at a later time.

"Locking it?" Cyrene asked.

"Safety. Lock-out, prevent the system from being reactivated," Hess said. "With this locked out, we can begin the process of clearing and scrapping at our leisure."

"Ah. Now all we need is to assemble a team of scrapping people to do the job properly," Sergeant Moody said with a smile.

"Excellent. Cyrene, time until jump?"

"Six minutes!" the lady of mystery answered.

"Time for us to secure up and get ready to go cosmic," Hess said to Alexander.

-x-x-x-

(5 June 2015, 1600 Hours EST (UTC-5))  
(Claiborne County Courthouse, Kentucky, United States)

"Thank you, ladies and gentlemen of the press," Sheriff Hearter opened his segment of the press conference. "At this time, we have had no further contact with the man we sent into the train to extract the first shooter. Given the train has not returned to any known location on planet, we have no present reason to assume that we will have contact with him for some time. The Returners have made it known that these trains tend to operate in circuits, so following that logic it might be possible for Deputized Militiaman Hess to simply ride the train out until it arrives back on planet."

He switched note cards quickly. "At this time, we have recovered all three of the remaining escapees from the initial incident with the train. Two are alive and well, being checked out at the hospital here in town. The third was struck when attempting to cross a road in front of a grain hauler truck and died on the operating table at Lexington-Mercy. The second group of evacuees are presently undergoing medical investigation at the local hospital and are expected to request asylum here in America pending the outcomes of their testing."

Another quick change of note card. "Jefferson Kall, who was also transported to Lexington-Mercy, is presently undergoing reparative surgery to the birdshot wounds he took in the face during the first engagement. He is expected to make a full recovery, and as of right now the total extent of damage to his property or person is some minor board damage to the second-story walls and he had a rifle scope destroyed by shotgun pellets. Jefferson was responsible for one of the three confirmed dead assaulters that came from the train, and the prosecutor's office has declared that in light of the serious hazard presented to the safety of persons in the area, he will not be charged with any crimes for his actions."

One last note card switch. "The two other confirmed kills of assaulters from the train go to Deputized Militiaman Hess, whose fast reaction and precision aim are widely believed to have saved lives. It is also believed from blood pattern analysis of the caboose interior that he at least wounded the initial shooter with revolver shots from a window on his property to the door of the caboose. If this is the case, the assaulter in question is probably severely injured and may be capturable by the Militiaman."

He looked up from his notes. "At this time, I would like to turn the briefing over to Special Agent Kyle Longforth, Federal Bureau of Investigation Special Crimes and Actions task force."

-x-

(Same time)  
(Rail-Head Undercroft, SLDF Rail Fortress Erlanger, Western Continent, Terra 232)

"Jump completed. We have arrived," the engineer said.

"Disable and secure the systems, please. This train will never leave the undercroft again, in any intact form," Hess requested.

Cyrene pulled the breaker box off the control panel, and unhooked the secondary control cables from the other consoles. "Done. Without this breaker box, all five of the engines are rendered unusable."

"Even if something goes wrong, this is one train permanently out of circulation."

"Don't think that," Asako warned the Kentuckian.

"I agree," Captain Foley noted. "Having you around is kinda handy. Ever consider making a career out of dropping fascists?"

"You heard my speech, Captain," Hess said with a smile. "I've got a long future ahead of me plugging commies and their various splinter groups. Of course, if I happen across fascists, well, I'm pretty sure I can justify the ammo expenditures…" his smile grew to the point of being savage and evil, a surprising state for the otherwise calm and realistic Kentuckian.

"All right, Cyrene. If you know where we're going, lead the way," Captain Foley requested.

"One moment, please." Hess stopped at one of the control panels that had not been affected by the breaker box, specifically the panel for the train intercom. "Attention occupants of this train. This is Erich Hess, the new controller. This train has now been permanently parked and disabled from further movement. We have not shut off the engines, water supplies, or food supplies at this time, repeat, all utilities are still available at this time. Please continue with your day-to-day affairs until further notice. Extraction group, please begin evacuation by forward cars. All entry team and paratrooper team forces, muster forward of the primary engine for priority enter and clear. That is all." Hess set down the microphone. "I hope I didn't just offend your command position, Captain?" He asked belatedly of Captain Foley.

"Definitely not," Foley answered. "If we're going to do this, it has to be done right, and you're the man with the plans. I'm just along for a ride home."

Hess stifled a snort at the Captain's apropos. "Captain, I'm pulling this plan out of my arse in segments as the situation dictates. We are so far off the reservation of anything I thought I ever might have to deal with, I'm running on theoretical solutions to problems that most sane people won't even see in fiction."

"And you're making it work, which is a damn sight better than I did when I boarded the train," the Captain reinforced his position.

"Well, let's establish a baseline for you to make it work," Cyrene said. She was out the door and forward to the front ladders down off the engines, where the rest of the personnel were starting to gather.

The team took several minutes to assemble, since Jeff and his rescued lady were working as the rearguard for the trailers, as well as Private Elder.

"We're here, sir. The extracts are kinda nervous, but very happy to be off the train," Elder noted.

"All right, let's give them a good reason to be happier. We're presently in the undercroft rail station of a Star League Defense Force Rail Fortress. Our present objective is to secure critical command and communication facilities to the base above us." Hess had breathed easier after he stepped out of the train, since the undercroft lighting was working, which meant that power facilities were still running at this base. "Once we secure the facilities, we hold against possible counterattack by presently occupying persons if they are hostile, and establish commo with her command section," Hess jerked his thumb over his shoulder at Cyrene. "After we accomplish that, we're flying by the seat of our pants until further notice. We need to hold our new home base in preparation for further ops, processes, and goals. The big thing in the first 72 hours of a crisis situation is always stressed as survivability: if you have food, water, shelter, and don't have any injuries or bullet holes, you run a very good chance of making it long term. You follow me?"

"Yes sir!" Sergeant Moody answered.

"All right. Cyrene, terrain analysis if available?" Hess asked.

"I can get us access into the basement level of the command center from the undercroft. I don't have any intel on who is inside, if anyone, so if they are smart and have the security system active they will know we are coming. Chances are, though, you might have a small band of civilians in the base, using it as shelter against marauding bands of thugs in the countryside. Once we get inside, we follow the ground-floor directory markings to the HPG station, where we can make contact with my commanding officers. At that point, I plead the plan to my bosses, see if I can get one of them to sign off. I figure, damn good chances if I get the right officer; most of my bosses have wild hairs and like sticking it to the Star league General Council, so anything that achieves that is a win in their books. And yanking an entire planet out of their dominion is definitely a win."

"Any questions?" Hess asked. There were none. "Alright, people, let's make it happen."

-x-

(Parallel time)  
(Claiborne County Courthouse, Kentucky, United States)

Special Agent Kyle Longforth stepped up to the podium. "Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. I am Kyle Longforth, FBI Special Crimes and Actions task force. First, I would like to allay any and all fears of this somehow turning into a government cover-up. The nature of these actions involving this train, and the shocking allegations from involved parties, require that we make this information known far and wide in as efficient a manner as possible."

He cleared his throat hastily. "First, a little background information is in order. At this time, the FBI has reason to believe that five such trains have now visited the nation. The first one landed in Fort Benning military base in 1988. No persons were believed to have escaped that train. Infantry from the base boarded it briefly but were recalled by the base commander due to perceived hazard. The second train sighting was in the forest areas of upstate Michigan, some time in late January of '92; only one person was confirmed to have left the train, though she did not survive the environment during winter and was found posthumously. Encounter three was a corn field in upstate Nebraska, where several persons fled the train. It appeared briefly in the newspapers as an urban legend, but I can confirm that the story printed in 1996 was true in all details. The fourth encounter was in a cow field in rural Alabama late in 2000. Again, no persons entered or exited the train. The fifth encounter occurred this morning, whereby several persons fled the train and one person boarded it — Militiaman Erich Hess." Kyle had cleared the use of the term Militiaman with the FBI director, since it applied in just about every sense of the word here.

Again, Kyle cleared his throat before he continued. "I would like to bring your attention to the Returners that spearheaded the evacuation of hostages from these trains. Their tale, the first we have heard officially of any concerted action for or against the trains' occupants, tells a very grim tale. These trains were, at one point in their history, an interdimensional travel system for use by massive, star-spanning and dimension-spanning governments and their peoples. We have full information on these extra-terrestrial governments, but such information is not germane to this briefing. It will be released before the end of the day on the FBI website. The trains changed hands at least once in their history, fell into mismanagement, and have now been hijacked by criminal enterprises for the purpose of looting random planets for materials, weapons, and especially sex slaves."

There was a brief stir from the press, but they fell silent quickly enough. "As of right now, I am issuing a caution to all citizens to be on the lookout for one of these trains, and if spotted, to immediately report them to law enforcement. If it is safe to do so, observe the caboose of the train and count off any refugees that attempt to flee the train. Additionally, if any armed parties exit the train, please report this information to law enforcement immediately; chances are numerically favorable that any armed persons exiting the train are hostile. Do not attempt to make contact unless there is no threat of harm or you must take actions to protect the refugees fleeing the train. Let the lessons of today's encounter stand in your minds: it took two expert riflemen, one an Army Vietnam Veteran, the other a Kentucky Militiaman, to successfully engage the criminals that came out of the train. Leave these actions to the professionals, and observe if you can do so safely."

He ruffled a note sheet briefly, still a bit nervous about the question-and-answer session that was inevitable. "At this time, I would like to thank the Kentucky Unorganized Militia for their fast response to the threat and their ability to contain the situation to allow Sheriffs to collect evidence and evacuate survivors. Their quick thinking and 'always ready' policy and preparations undoubtedly saved lives this morning — theirs, medical and sheriffs responders, and the refugees. When Militiaman Hess returns to the planet, the FBI has a list of awards waiting for his selfless actions, and other involved parties may have their own to issue out at that time."

He swallowed hard, awaiting the inevitable. "This concludes our prepared remarks. We can now take questions from the press pool."

-x-

(Parallel time)  
(Rail-Head Undercroft, SLDF Rail Fortress Erlanger, Western Continent, Terra 232)

"Breaking entry codes… now," Cyrene tapped the control panel when her breaker box registered that she had access to the doors now. "We're in."

"Enter and clear," Hess ordered. He had unstepped the bayonet from his Enfield, safed and slung the rifle over his back. Given the poor lighting in the undercroft, and the likelihood of poor lighting in the command center, the AR-15 with an attached tactical light made far more sense to the Kentuckian. Besides, the holographic sight (which he had to replace batteries in once he realized they were dead) was far more visible in the dark than the ghost ring sight of an Enfield rifle.

Inside the basement, the personnel broke up into three teams and moved in three separate directions amongst the heavy equipment. Hess had the luxury of sweeping by several large pedestal-mounted generator systems, though he couldn't really tell what kind of generator they were. All the indicators on the units were in the green, though, which he took to mean that the base had the power available.

The basement was large, and once past the generator section it opened up to a warehouse area that was mostly empty. Clearing that much was dead simple; once the teams passed the few remaining shipping units, there was nothing in sight except piles of coyote shit and the occasional rat, hardly a threat to armed and lighted parties. "Left clear," Hess reported loudly.

"Right clear," Captain Foley half-shouted a second later.

"Center clear!" Sergeant Moody completed.

"All right, I saw the generators reporting good voltage, so we need to find the distribution panels and start turning things on," Cyrene said. "Critical is the power to the HPG, but we could also stand to power up the rest of the command center while we're at it."

"Roger that, where are the panels?" Hess asked.

"West side," Cyrene pointed to Captain Foley's search track.

"Jeff, Alexander, you two are volunteered. Let there be light, please," Hess said.

"There shall be light," Jeff said with a smile. His rescued lady followed with as the two made for the control panels.

"We go for the doors on the east side, those will be closest to the HPG."

"Disperse formation, move as a group but spread out," Hess ordered. "Captain Foley, who's the best pointman?"

"Mancowitz, you have point," Foley ordered immediately.

"On it, si—" He halted briefly as the lights popped on in the basement. "That is a welcome sight."

"And that is not," Hess groused, pointing toward the warehouse area. "Martin, drill that wolf, please." He pointed to a large wolf that was stalking toward where Alexander and Jeff were.

"Yes, sir," the sniper said. After a few moments to get a bead on it, Martin dropped the hammer. The wolf in question staggered but did not drop. "The hell?" He ran the bolt on his Springfield, sighted again, and fired again. This time, the wolf dropped in place and did not move again. "Got him that time."

"All right, if anyone is in the house, they know we're here now after Jeff turned the lights on and we shot the pet wolf. Time to move," Captain Foley said.

"Lead off, Mancowitz," Hess said. He fell in behind the guy with the Diemaco SAW clone, then backed off and right to space out.

At the top of the stairs, a pair of industrial double doors blocked them, but unlike the undercroft door there were no security measures on these doors. A simple twist of the handle and Hess held one side open for the team to funnel through and disperse into the hallways of the ground floor. "Clear!" Moody shout-whispered to the group when a brief check of the hallways turned up nothing.

"HPG is to the south of here," Cyrene said, reading off the directions from one of the directory placards on the wall.

"Cyrene and Erich in the center, everyone else form a perimeter and move," Captain Foley ordered. "Let's move fast and steady."

"Yes, sir!" Private Elder said.

The group continued south through the somewhat wide concrete hallways. At each intersection, they hesitated long enough to check cross-corridors for possible enemy presence, and finding none, they moved further south until they literally ran into the HPG substation tunnel out the south of the command center. When they entered the tunnel, they changed formation to a staggered guard, continuing forward until they reached the HPG building.

"We're here," Cyrene said. She applied her breaker box to the control panel for the door access, then entered a code to unlock the facility. "Hah! We're in!"

"Lead the way!" Hess said.

"Follow me, we don't have far to the main communications pit."

HyperPulse Generators were always assembled the same way: a pentagonal central support for the main dish, surrounded by four layers of building around it to support the main commo system. If a person had been in one HPG, they had been in them all, the only thing that changed was the names and ranks on the office doors. ComStar had a habit of being rather insular in their construction and facilities policies, Cyrene figured.

After four security doors, the group entered the 'command center' of the HPG. "This is unreal," Sergeant Moody said.

"This reminds me of the 'Star Wars Room' at my company, where technicians and worksites are tracked by the technical dispatchers," Hess said with some reverence. "This, however, is far different."

"Here we are," Cyrene said when she approached the main panels at the lowest point of the room. "Ah! This HPG is a new model, has the Gate Communications Systems. We can call home real-time!"

"Is that good or bad?" Erich asked.

"Very good, we get instant feedback from my superiors. HPGs are like fax machines: they send a document wholesale, they don't do continuous comms. GCS opens a small gate between here and there, allows us to use radios or laser comms through the gate for real-time discussion." She dialed in an address from memory on the control panel, then selected the 'begin comms' button.

The primary monitor activated in the room, which drew all attention to the five-foot-diagonal display panel. Hess, for all his veterancy in understanding electronics and communications, did not understand completely what he was seeing, until he saw a splash screen that was in Japanese — at which point, he completely lost the thread.

The face that came up after the splash screen, though, he had no problem understanding. Female, significantly beautiful, well-dressed and kempt, and had a telephone operator's headset on. "Star League Executor Router, please identify," the operator ordered. Behind him, Tyee gasped sharply.

"Cyrene Curone, number 683722, callsign White Light. Authentication _Juris Dictum Hikari_," she said succinctly.

"Authentication confirmed. Welcome back, High Executor Curone. How may I route your traffic?"

"Master Executor Tomoe if available, Watch Officer if otherwise."

_What the fuck am I looking at here? Some manner of secret order_? Hess asked inside the confines of his mind. He recognized the term from prior, but the apropos Executor had no effective meaning to Hess. Of course, with the way things were leaning, he was beginning to suspect that an Executor ranked fairly high on the totem pole of 'authoritah' throughout known existence, so…

"Master Executor Tomoe is the watch officer for the month," the Operator answered. "I will forward you immediately."

The screen blanked for a moment, then popped back open. The face on the far side of the screen Hess did recognize, mainly from the anime Sailor Moon, but he was reasonably sure that said anime had damn near zero to do with what he was about to drop ass-deep into. He would be both correct and incorrect, for reasons that would cause him fits and starts in the near future.

"Ah, Cyrene the White, excellent operation to point," Master Executor Tomoe said warmly.

"Thank you, Highness," Cyrene bowed curtly. "I have modified my operations package as per contingency C-7. I was able to support the Returners on Train 311, but a new option presents itself… one far more thorough and effective in the long run."

"Understood," the lady answered. "I take it you refer to the gentlemen with the glasses and the excessive firepower?"

Hess snickered briefly. "Better prepared heavy than empty, milady," Hess answered the standing comment.

"No argument from me, soldier. I take it you are also an American, going by your morale patches, probably Militia?" Tomoe asked.

"Aye, milady," Hess answered. "And yes, I did volunteer as per our conversation, milady." he indicated Cyrene.

"Then you know already what you are getting into. The Executors are the main arbitration and enforcement arm of the Star League, but our authority on Star League-held worlds is compromised. As such, we cannot directly intervene in a world still considered SL dominion, due to the conflicting legal minefields to make such actions. That said, we have authority to revoke the SL dominion in such a case that it is obvious they have failed their governance and one of the Star Empires attempts to assert control. Follow?" she asked.

"You want the problem fixed, but the SL General Council is useless and you legally can't do it yourself, is my readback correct?"

"Very correct, Militiaman. I have a friend in high places, Rini Atrebas, Empress of the Multimage Star Empire. She's been the go-to for cleaning up the failed dominions, and I think I will forward the planet you are on to her as well. Only, I will do this one with a twist: I will list your fledgling group as a legitimate party that needs to fall under Multimage Protectorate status, so they can claim default on dominion while allowing you the leeway necessary to achieve your objectives. In this case, everyone gets what they want: you have the freedom and resources to clean house and get your people home, we Executors strip a world out of the abusive clutches of the General Council, and the Magi get a new Protectorate run by someone that would fit into their society very well. Follow me still, Militiaman?"

"Good copy, milady Tomoe," Hess answered quickly.

"Any questions?" Master Executor Tomoe asked.

"One question. You yank the dominion out from under the Grand Council. What is their scope of reprisal?"

"If they are that arrogant on the day that I file the notice of default, they are starting a war with your forces, the Magi forces since you will be claimed as a Protectorate before I file default papers, and they start a war with their own enforcement branch. If they are that stupid, the General Council's lifespan will probably be measured in minutes, once my boss starts issuing orders."

"That sounds spectacular… and messy," Hess said, using the older meaning of 'spectacular' (bright and visually appealing) and not the modern English hijacking of it into a synonym for 'good'. "Also, another question to mind, you had her operating in support of the Returners. Do you want her back on that detail, or do you have other intentions for the Trains? Lady Cyrene is rather handy to have around, all things considered."

"Oh, not strictly to that detail, I was going to assign her as liaison and administrative assistant to your fledgling Protectorate, help get things moving. As to the Trains, well, the Star League will pay your Protectorate 500,000 C-bills per train that you decommission and scrap. You may keep all materials, salvage, refugees, etcetera from those decommissioned trains."

_Holy shit, that is half the going price of a Temporal Psionic in one go, all we need to do is render the trains out of service_, Hess considered inside the confines of his own mind.

"Talk to the representative from the Magi about it. I hear they have an experimental device that they use to localize and reroute the Trains into their control territory so they can disable them and clear."

"Will do, milady. Where do I sign up?" Hess asked.

"You just did, Militiaman. I'll forward the information to Empress Atrebas within the hour. She normally moves fast on these matters, so expect a representative from her Empire within the day."

"Understood, I'll be waiting after I finish securing the command center here and get my first-group refugees bedded down," Hess said.

"Good luck, Militiman. You'll need it and more. Any other traffic at this time, Cyrene?" Tomoe asked.

"Negative, Master Executor. Please pass my regards to Lord Tenchi."

"Will do. Watch Officer is out." After a half-second, the commo link canceled out.

"Son of a bitch. We're in the soup now, ladies and gentlemen," Tyee said. "And you, Lady Cyrene, why didn't you just out and tell us you were an Executor? We'd've followed you to the gates of Hell if you asked."

Cyrene snorted. "It was never about me, and I didn't want to make it out to be about me," Cyrene said. "The mission comes first, always, but in this case his mission became the mission for us all, including me," she pointed right at Hess.

"And now, the mission is to clear trains, clear refugees, un-fuck this planet, and get people back to their rightful homes or make them a proper home on this world. Helluva step up from Technical Analyst and weekend rifleman, I daresay." Hess shrugged famously at the thought. "Well, ladies and gentlemen, I didn't just sign up to sort out a preschool, and I don't consider it fun unless it is a challenge. I'm pretty sure from context this career is not going to disappoint."

"You said it, kid," Captain Foley acknowledged the estimation from the Kentuckian.

"Now, keep in mind that the only two persons in the room directly tied to this is myself and Lady Cyrene, me by signing up for it, her by orders. You men and women have the right to walk away. Will you volunteer for this detail?" Hess asked of the assembled persons.

* * *

**Author's Chapter Afterword**:

Another week, another chapter.

I'm going to start this preface off by saying, if you think this is too easy a solution for everyone involved, guess what, you're right. There are anvils in the air, on a trajectory for pain. Just wait and see.

First off, Hess is reasonably sure he's being played by the Executors, though in what fashion he is being played or to what goals, not stated yet. That said, he's not going to out and challenge them on it; American, yes, suicidal, hell no. One does not challenge someone who has that kind of raw power and engenders respect almost at will from otherwise uninvolved people. That said, the Kentuckian is also going to ride this gravy train down into the mines for all it is worth, so for what they think they will be getting out of Hess, he will be getting some serious take for himself and the unit-to-be in response.

Second: one train disabled, over a hundred thousand to go. You can rest assured that this one was a midget train and actually rather sparse on shootouts. The next train the teams have to clear will not likely be so friendly. Again, there is a caveat: by the time the next train run begins, there will be established teams for clearing the trains, with full-up procedures and far more regular / effective equipment or armaments. Also, the four mafia groups dealt with so far, they aren't the only tangos out there.

Third, there is the planet in question. This will likely be the most difficult part of all, as expansion is a factor of time, and time is not something easily gambled with. Again, things are interlinked, though, because Erich can shorten the time expenditure by throwing personnel at the problem, and the trains make an unusual and very random larder for personnel.

Okay, at this point, I want to make two notes. Number one, as demonstrated here, Hess is a bit of a sci-fi / gamer aficionado, which makes things a bit easier on him for gauging certain things. The flip side of that, randomized results — what Hess thinks he knows about a given subject may not be accurate. And there will be bits and pieces of triptych that he semi-recognizes but does not completely grasp. The GDI Assault Rifle is a classic example, he knows the name GDI, but he does not know the weapon in question.

Second note: the crossover elements have only begun to take hold. I will be throwing all manner of crazy crap into this story, from exceedingly varied sources and methods. You can expect things will get messy quickly when certain things begin happening, and of course you can also expect that once the path is forged, others will follow suit.

Now, in closing, I say to thee: the name of the story, Sigma Mercenaries, will come into play in the next chapter.

* * *

**NEXT UP**: Hess gets dropped arse-first into the politics of the matter.

* * *

**Review Replies**: NINE reviews! For a first chapter, that is wildly unexpected! MUCH THANK YOU ALL!

Deathzealot: Oh yes, this ties in rather directly to the end of the MMC. I'll try to avoid most spoilers, but some of them can't be avoided. You'll get a good, hard dose of tie-in on the next chapter.

C0dy88: Yeah, they aren't frequently used, but Hess is a very firm believer in cold steel solutions to certain problems. Wait until he has to whoop out the UC Bushmaster survival knife, then things get messy.

Biggie1447: There are some people in Existence who are a bit unflappable about things like crisis situations, parallel dimensions theory, and planets in anarchy. As hard as it may be to put a name to them, the common apropos for them is 'Prepper'. When you actively ready yourself for problems at a lower level than you find yourself in, the larger situations are less likely to induce panic than they would be to an untrained / unprepared person. That doesn't mean that Hess won't spazz out eventually, just not in the middle of a crisis situation.

Knives91: Takeshi Yamato here. Honestly, I don't go much for weapons IRL, but in Games, I'm actually better in close, too - though I tend _**NOT**_ to use guns - give my character a good sword, and I'm happy. Give my character _**TWO**_ Swords, or a _**Legendary Blade**_, and you will see him become a Whirlwind of Destruction.

Stravag here. Just want to say one thing. Right tool for the right job. Subs would be perfect for train clearing, but if you're not in forced close quarters, a SMG is a poor weapon for facing off against targets at a distance. Remember, what you have to do dictates what you take to do the job, and in this case the AR-15 is a good all-around weapon system that is off-the-shelf available to most people.

Nialos: Your suspicions are not incorrect, but to what degree, well, I'll leave that up to your imagination for now.

FraserMage: You just saw the first round of unidentified weapons, but BT suppliers will definitely be in line for the Sigma group when they start making a name for themselves. After all, everyone wants to do some business :)

Drakensis: Hope things are still interesting for you, amigo. Because it is only getting warmed up on my side.

Holy Dragoon: The Caboose cars were a fixation on the older steam / coal-fired trains, but have more or less fallen out of favor since the diesel-electric engies have come of age. That said, these trains are an old Dynasty Star Empire creation, and they played things old school. The Caboose was considered a requirement for them.

Obfuscated: Har har har! (that is my final answer.)

* * *

**The Gripe Sheet**:

No gripes yet. Beta thanks go out to **Takeshi Yamato**, **Sieben Nightwing**, and **Necroblade**, who are constantly editing copy, throwing sj1t into the mix, and keeping me on track.

* * *

**Footnotes**:

(1): **STANAG** is in reference to Draft STANAG 4179 that standardized magazines between NATO countries. Magazines for STANAG-compliant weapons can be shared, since they are all for the 5.56mm NATO cartridge specification.

* * *

**Crossover Elements (Running total, this story)**:

IRL Weapons

IRL Tactics

Personal Works: Star League of House Serenity

Battletech: Kanazuchi Assault Battle Armor

Call Of Duty: the Paratroopers

Command And Conquer Renegade: The Assault Rifle picked up by Sancia is the basic rifle weapon in use in the game.


	3. The Size Of A Nightmare

(Sigma Mercenaries, Story 001: Initial Public Offering)  
(Chapter 03: The Size Of A Nightmare)

(Year SLR-9063, March 21, 1830 Local)  
(Day 1 of Campaign)  
(Command Center, Base Erlanger, Terra 232)

"If nothing else, these guys build for long-term hard use," Erich Hess said with some gratitude. Technically, he now owned the building and there was a definite chance that he would have to defend it with superior arms and personnel.

"Roger that," Sergeant Moody said. "If I may ask, Lady Cyrene, where are we going?"

"The Security Center," the Executor answered. "We take control of the base security systems, we have hard intel on occupants, communications, and defensive options."

"I like that," Captain Foley said.

"Two more hallways, we're there," Cyrene indicated the corridor to the right. Hess made sure to rifle sweep the perpendicular and opposite corridors, looking through the holographic sight on his AR-15 Carbine to make sure they were not being tracked. He did track in on a person in the corridor behind the group's movement, but the kid in question ducked out of sight immediately and did not try to come back into sight.

"You saw that kid as well?" Tyee said.

"Yeah," Hess said, still watching behind the group.

"Want me to track him?" Tyee asked after a few more paces.

"No. He or she is not trying to maintain contact. Probably ran off," Hess gauged, not incorrectly.

As the troop continued movement for the security center, Hess continued to do rearguard or flank security as the group shifted around. He saw more persons, ones and twos, some armed but none threatening the group, trying to trace the group or observe the newcomers. It lasted until the group entered the security center, at which point Hess closed the doors behind the team and sealed them.

"Can you break the security systems?" Private Elder asked.

"Working on it," the Executor answered. "And… done! We have control of all security systems in the base."

"Can I get a base map on the primary screen?" Hess asked.

"Yeah, the control gloves up front at the main Ouija panel can do that," she indicated a clearboard system at the front of the room.

"Alright, time to take a crash course in future technologies," Hess said as he moved forward to the control system. A pair of fingerless gloves with obvious computer interface systems on the back awaited him, so he strapped them on and tapped the power-on controls on the back of the gloves. Having charged over the past hour of being powered (when Jeff Evans threw the switch to the security zone, he reactivated the charger for the gloves), they responded immediately and the attached screen came alive.

"Okay, this is going to be good," Hess said as he tried some basic gestures, such as the grab-and-drag motion loved by many 3D visualization programs. "Most of this matches extant touch-screen controls from my homeworld. Zoom function?"

"Grip and pull toward to zoom, grip and push away to zoom out," Cyrene coached him. Hess tested and verified all that was working.

"All right, time to take a look inside the command center," Hess said as he zoomed inside the four-story reinforced edifice at the center of the base. Once inside, the view took on the composites of the various security cameras and sensors in the building. "Well, there are people here, but it would be nice to turn the lights on in the building or enhance the view."

"System, enhance view, targeting outlines," Cyrene said. "Voice interpretation, Hess. You can probably guess."

"Aye." Hess moved the viewpoint around. "And there is the kid I saw earlier," he said when he zoomed in on a little girl talking to some adults.

"Wait, what are those ears?" Captain Foley asked.

"Elven ears," Tyee said. "She's half-Elven, if I am guessing right by the length."

"Different strokes, different folks," Hess commented dismissively. Whether or not she was human, partial human, or nonhuman really didn't matter to the Kentuckian for these purposes. Intellectually, he wanted to know a shit-ton more about the semi-human or nonhuman races (if there was one, there was likely more), but now was not the time. "System, base lighting control, activate all structure lighting in command center."

"Standby," the system answered. Hess could see the lights activate in phases throughout the building that was not included in the necessary safety lighting of the base, and with the reactivation of the primary building lighting the people began becoming agitated.

"Structure lighting activated," the system reported after a moment. He was reasonably sure the 'betty' voice was the same throughout Existence, it was that similar to what he had heard in the past.

"System, tally all persons in above-undercroft levels of the Command Center, excluding persons in the security center."

"Tally confirmed at 51 persons."

Hess nodded, thinking. "Captain Foley, you're on."

"Make contact, clear 'em?" The Captain asked.

"At least get their temperament. We may not immediately have to clear them, or we may want to move them out to the infantry barracks elsewhere on base. Just make sure we're not going to be in a turf war for our own command center, follow?"

"Will do," Foley said.

"Captain, over here," Tyee intercepted the Captain before they left the room. "Radio sets. Small enough that everyone can wear one, and you and Moody can wear two."

"Two?" Moody asked.

"One for a command frequency back here to security, the other for your individual troops," Tyee explained.

"Got it," Moody said. He slipped the headset band in under his helmet on his left ear for the command frequency, and on his right ear for the troop frequency. "Testing command," he said, but heard nothing. "Not working?"

"Press the earpiece down," Cyrene instructed the Sergeant.

"Testing command circuit," Moody said again.

"Good test," Hess said into his own headset that accompanied the control panel gloves. He began maneuvering the security system viewpoint again, this time to bring it to the security facility so he could begin planning their movements. "All right, Captain, listen up. Outside the main doors we have two contacts to the east, both adult male, one armed with a blunt object. Nothing to the west."

"Got it," Foley said. "I think I have a plan for this. We'll run a patrol, make some noise, announce that the base is being occupied, and see if we can get the civilians to join up by making it look attractive," he outlined his plan.

"Do it," Hess said with a smile.

"Come on, guys, be sure to play along." The Captain opened the door and the Paratroopers fell out into the hallway outside the security center. "Hess, what are the facilities east and west of here?"

"System, highlight persons in viewpoint," Hess ordered as he was looking at Foley. "System, show persons highlighted as friendlies." All nine of the paratroopers were haloed in blue, indicating allies. "System, show side-map of first floor, label all individual room functions." The side map popped up on a secondary monitor below the main screen. "Foley, Hess, west of you is the command center medical facility, east of you appears to be the dining hall."

"Roger that," Captain Foley said. "Alright, guys, this base is under new management as per the Executors. We need to secure and reactivate the facilities for incoming occupants. Moody, take your fire-team west and survey the medical area. I have the cafeteria to the east. We'll have new residents within the day, so make sure if anything goes wrong, we're ready for it."

"Yes, sir!" Sergeant Moody said. "Elder, Jones, Mancowitz, on me!"

"Martin, left flank security, please," Captain Foley said. "Rest of team, spread out and inspect structures and side rooms for issues that will hamper the incoming forces."

"Yes sir!" Private Morales said.

"Captain Foley, Hess, as soon as you started in their direction, those two recon peeps ducked back and entered the cafeteria. Looks like the dozen or so people in that room are now exiting the south door of the room, I'm seeing only odds and ends weapons, knives and blunt objects. No firearms visible."

"Roger that," Foley said quietly. He gave the persons fleeing the area thirty seconds to clear the cafeteria before he entered. "Room clear! Command, next facility needed?"

"Due south of your position, in the next bloc is the base communications nexus and radio room. Critical infrastructure. Enter and clear."

"This is Moody, medical facilities secured. Looks like this is decently stocked still. Next stop?"

"Moody, Hess, your next destination is the flight control room. This is a large facility, but less critical right now. Make it sound like it will be critically recommissioned with incoming flights. Entry is one bloc southwest of you. As soon as you walk in, you'll be in earshot to some stragglers."

"Got it. I think I've got an idea already."

Hess focused back on Captain Foley, who had made entry to the commo room and cleared it. His team was now working on an indirect encirclement action against a knot of about fifteen civilians on the east side of the building, making noise about troops coming in to reoccupy the base.

"It's working," Alexander said, looking at the minimap. "They're starting to congeal in the south of the first floor."

"They could squirt out the center between the teams," Asako said.

"Aye, they could," Hess acknowledged. "Asako, Jeff, Alexander, Tyee, get headsets on and start down the south center, same tactic. We need to herd them into one place so I can make my pitch in one move, to one group. Alexander, I want you on the command band." Hess reached up and activated his command channel radio. "Moody, Foley, mod to the plans. The corralling operation is working, but there is too much front for two fire-teams to cover. I'm putting a third team out down the center. Keep rolling the civvies south, try to concentrate them in the entry hall so I can pitch a case."

"Gotcha," Moody said. "I'm almost to the south wall. By the way, what is a 'social worker' office for? Never heard the term."

"Oh, don't worry about such politically-correct bullshit, Sergeant. I think we'll use that office for the Executor's Liaison," Hess said with a smile. Behind him, Cyrene covered her mouth to suppress a giggle.

"Got it."

"Radio test, command circuit," Alexander reported.

"Five by five. Get a move on, they're already starting to consider moving up the center," Hess said.

"On it," Alexander said before Asako opened the door.

"You've done this before?" Cyrene asked after a moment.

"Yes and no," Erich said. "I am a massive strategic warfare gamer, when I'm not doing oddball stuff like working on rifles or fixing computers. I know the principles, especially since I study military history and tactics, but this is literally my first time doing ops command for real troops."

"You sound a lot like you have an idea," Alena said from behind Hess.

"I'm right now scared to shit that something goes wrong and someone takes a hit or is killed," Hess said warily. "It's one thing to put my own fat arse in the fry pan, it's a totally different thing to be responsible for a dozen or more."

"Perfectly legitimate fear," Cyrene answered. _And, a fear like that is perfect illustration why I think he's the right man for the job_, she thought but did not say. _It's the guys that consider their men wantonly expendable that are horrid administrators and commanders_.

"On station, Hess, beginning sweep now," Alexander said.

"Remember the plan, Alexander. We're clearing and preparing the building for occupancy. Do not make direct contact unless they force the issue."

"Got it." Alexander said. Even before he started making noise about clearing out the administrative command center, the civilians in the area were starting to move down into the entry hall.

"Looks like things are shaping up just as you want," Cyrene noted.

"Shaping the battlefield is a necessity of victory," Hess said. "Erm, you could probably give me all manner of lessons on that."

"Not really," Cyrene said. "I'm a sword-swinging Paladin at heart, even if I am older than dirt and have over a thousand years time in battle. Given the right training, you could probably stomp me strategically, though not in direct combat."

Hess wisely said nothing about her indirect declaration of age and direct declaration of time on the battlefield. "Okay, looks like things are starting to compact into a manageable audience. Time to go mobile."

"Here," she presented Hess a tablet computer. "Drag the minimap onto this, you can continue control as we move out."

"Ready to move," he said after the map was in place. A quick check showed no red spots outside of a perimeter roughly centered on the entry hall, which meant he had achieved his goal. He connected a lanyard to the ruggedized tablet, then connected the lanyard to a D-ring carabiner that he hung off one of his MOLLE loops on his vest. The last thing he did was set aside the Enfield rifle just inside the door to the security center; his AR-15 would do the job readily enough, if it came to shooting, but his intention was to prevent any shooting incidents.

Outside the security center, Hess took a left, a left, a third left, and the third right after passing empty corridors, which put him in the central corridor. The facility was a lot larger than he expected, but for managing a whole division of troops such facilities were needed. Once he entered the corridor, he could hear the nervous chatting of the civilians, who had been tightened up by the three fire teams. The entry hall had three corridors coming out of it, and right now the east / west corridors were plugged by Paratroops, with the north corridor stopped solid by some rather unusual persons with heavy weapons, leaving the 'trapped' civilians nowhere to go.

About the time Hess arrived at the rear of Alexander's team, the inevitable question came up from someone who decided to step forward and represent the fifty-odd persons in the hall. "Who are you maniacs, and what do you want with us? We haven't done anything!" she shouted.

"I am aware of this," Hess said as he stepped up behind Asako. "I wanted everyone in a central area, so I did not have to repeat myself more than once. You persons have not done anything that would warrant a threat, so I did not have you removed by force."

"Okay, what's this juice about the base being occupied again? Is the Star League coming back?" Another girl asked, this one Erich estimated at or around twenty.

"Hell no," Hess said. "Why would anyone want to replace incompetent leadership with more incompetent leadership?" Those who were less afraid than concerned had a good chuckle at Hess' sarcastic question. "No, the Executors have forwarded this planet's information to the Multimages for Protectorate status. Per an arrangement with Master Executor Tomoe, I will be heading up the Protectorate to clean this planet up and get it to a state where it is livable."

"Wait… what?" two more came forward, one of them presumably Elven by the large ears. "You? You're going to clean up this planet? How the hell did an American even get here?"

"There is a Jumper Train in the undercroft," Cyrene answered the question rather forcefully. "The man you derided indirectly with that question walked the entire train, cleared it and extracted over 400 persons while killing some 8 Slavers' Guild operators and countless other Mafiosi. You ask how he's going to clean up a planet? After watching him in action over the past twelve hours, I'm pretty sure he can get the job done."

"Your opinion doesn't mean shit to me, lady," the Elven lady responded.

Cyrene pulled a necklace from under her shirt, then off her neck completely. "Check it, kid," she tossed the necklace to the Elven belligerent.

The Elven lady walked over to a terminal built into the front of the receptionist's counter, plugged the codex in, and typed a couple times on the touchscreen. After a moment, she looked up to Cyrene, then back to the screen, a couple more touches, then back to Cyrene again. The second time she looked up, though, she was extremely shocked. "This… can't be real! Why would an Executor put any faith in an American?"

"Normally, Executors do not," Cyrene said in a tone that Hess could best tell was acidic. "Prior to the Industrial Age, Americans are independent and belligerent about it, rather like you. From there to the nuclear age, the golden age of the Republic, there are some here and there worth talking about, but not many. After the dawn of the nuclear age, the average American is a pussy sheeple, not unlike most Star League citizens. The Americans around you, Hess and Jeff here, the Paratroopers to your left and right, they are either from that golden age or should have been born in it. They know what needs to be done. They volunteered to do it. If you have a better plan, I want to hear it."

Her silence was answer enough for the Kentuckian. As Hess expected, belligerent, plenty prepared to blow smoke and noise, not prepared to make the calls necessary. All things considered, though, Hess figured not everyone in Existence was prepared to think outside the box — or make the box large enough — to solve the problems around them. _Sheeple_, he echoed inside his mind; _if the problem doesn't affect them directly, or despair sets in, they won't try to fix it._

"I'm not in a position to make those kind of calls, milady," the Elven lady bowed at the waist. "But, why a pariah such as an American?"

"Why not?" Cyrene asked in counter. "When Executors find someone willing to do a job, we put them in that job. We don't care who or where from, so long as the job gets done and done honorably."

"The paperwork is probably already in motion," Hess announced to the larger crowd. "I am here to fix the problems, not create an echo of the problems with America or the Star League. This base is my starting point; my force is small, now, but I expect I will be expanding beyond this facility in due time. Now, as to you, ladies and gentlemen, I will not order you out of the base yet. I do know what lies beyond the walls, or even outside this building, and I shall not boot people into such conditions. We will seal the base, clear it, and begin setting up areas for refugees in the old barracks buildings. I won't ask for volunteers, but I request an amount of cooperation from you all to make this work."

"I'm not going to volunteer, I am flat-out joining your group to make sure this is done right," the Elven lady said directly as she stepped up to the group around Erich. After a few moments, the other ladies with her joined her. "And I'm not giving you a choice in the matter, American. Call it."

Hess chuckled at her sheer hubris in the face of both authority and firepower. "What's your name, lady?" Hess asked after a moment.

"Amy, why?" she asked sharply.

"Because if I am going to have a belligerent adolescent hardass in my command, might be nice to know her name," Hess answered succinctly. "If you want it done correctly, start making it happen." Hess reached up over his right shoulder and gripped a barely-visible handle. When he pulled it out, the handle was attached to a Remington 870 Express Magnum shotgun with folding stock. "You do know how to use one of these?

"I can manage," she said with far less confidence than her belligerence would have shown seconds prior.

"I need at least ten, preferably fifteen of the barracks buildings cleared and verified. Tyee, Alexander, go with them. Stay on the radios, anything happens I want to know immediately." Hess activated his command-net radio. "Foley, Moody, come over to the reception desk." He released the microphone, then activated it again. "System, perimeter security controls, close all exterior wall gates and lock down."

In the corridors and rooms of the command center, amber lights flashed briefly. "Attention all personnel, base is going on lockdown. All perimeter incursions will trigger an alert," the system announced in the Betty voice it preferred.

"That us?" Moody asked.

"Yes, I ordered the lockdown," Hess said as the Sergeant approached. "Captain, we've got two things that need to happen. First, we need to bring the evacuees from the Train up and get them bedded down, then we need to reactivate the mess hall on base and start prepping it for serving. We can't eat MREs straight, not cost-efficient, and I'm a bit uneasy with defrauding the Train Dining Cars, even if they are run and stocked as a freebie."

"Got it. Moody, take your team, Ellis, Tyver and get the evacuees up here. Funnel 'em down this way. As Amy's team clears barracks, move the people in."

"Will do, sir," Moody said.

"Second thing is a little more up Martin's alley. We have a guard tower on the eastern wall perimeter that overlooks the barracks areas," Hess said, highlighting the facility on his tablet map of the base. "The tower is 100 foot up, hardened, and has lights and commo equipment. With Martin up top, we can control a goodly portion of the base."

"Got it. Martin, Morales, we've got some stairs to take after a short jog," Captain Foley said. His team left post-haste, looped around the still-nervous civilians, and then out the doors to the open world around them.

"Okay, that is, food, shelter, security, we need water. This base has a water treatment plant in the northeast corner, pipes supposedly run under the wall to a nearby river. Amy, is the water still drinkable in here?"

"Yes," she said. "Nobody has been ill recently from it."

"All right, those are the big ones. Adelle, Alena, Sancia," Hess prompted next.

"Yes!" all three ladies answered at once.

"Get back on the train, get into the last dining car we passed, start pulling MREs and water bottles. While we wait to establish a baseline and resources, we need food and water for everyone. Grab some of the other Charlies to help transport, follow?"

"It's their asses on the line, might as well put them to something useful as well," Sancia agreed. "And, sir, I respectfully disagree with you on the trains' supply systems. These Star League pukes screw the world over, they can pay for us cleaning up, one meal at a time."

Hess chuckled grimly. "I agree in principle, but nation-states do not think that way. Otherwise, they wouldn't screw this pooch to begin with." He sighed. "And that leaves the command functions. Jeff, Cyrene, shall we get things moving?"

"Hit up the receptionist panel here, you can reset the panel to do command and control functions." Cyrene walked in behind the receptionist counter.

-x-x-x-

(Year SLR-9063, March 22, 0030 Local)  
(Day 2 of Campaign)  
(Command Center, Base Erlanger, Terra 232)

The Star League Command Centers had four levels: the bottom floor was usually services in support of the command center, the second floor was the administrative / HR / employee relations / technical groups, third floor was the quarters for the command-level officers of the base, and the fourth floor contained the actual command center for the forces and garrisons that fell under the control of the base.

Hess had visited the entire base in the hours after he began clearing and preparing the base for full occupancy. Finding sufficient civilian cooks for the mess hall alleviated the need for MREs for three meals a day, which would begin tomorrow. The command center was not yet activated, since Hess technically had no forces yet, except for the modicum of people he was cycling through the security force for the refugees.

Essentially, Hess had ambition and a few people crazy enough to follow him. And a few belligerents he was reasonably sure were waiting for him to fail, but had no follow-up plan of their own.

Inasfar as things were arranged, Hess had the quarters of the former Major General to himself. As an ambassador, Cyrene took the quarters of his first Brigadier General, and Captain Foley upgraded his intention to another of the Brigadier General's quarters. Hess did not directly say so, but he felt exceedingly uneasy with taking over the quarters, though he didn't argue the matter. _From nobody Militiaman, to American Pariah, to train-clearing fiend, and now to an as-yet-untitled planetary administrator in the making. Less than a full freaking day, and I have been promoted well above the level of anything I ever expected. Who the hell did I piss off to get this assignment, and what did I do to warrant it? _Hess thought while he hesitated in front of the door. After a moment of mental silence, the Kentuckian tapped the open and close controls, which rejected him.

"Reconfigure the controls," Cyrene warned as she walked past him to her own facilities.

"Thanks." Hess sighed. "System, security override, recode door lock on Major General's quarters to accept Hess, Erich as primary resident."

"Voice control confirmed as authorized security officer. Room recoded to residence of Hess, Erich, Kentucky Militia, as primary resident." The door opened after a moment. "Welcome, Erich."

Hess stepped inside, and immediately was surprised by the size of his quarters. As soon as he entered, to the left was the personal shower / bath and can, farther up the left wall was his bunk, still made from whence last the Major General was occupying the room. On the same wall, a mid-size bar was still stocked with a combination of the cheap stuff and a bunch of materials that he guessed were high-price, high-octane drinks. The high-test stuff was mostly untouched, the cheap booze and wines were opened and many were partially or mostly drained.

Just inside the door, a clear area gave way to a small round table, suitable for eight or so to sit around. It was a rather plebian table, and well-used, which stood in direct contrast to the desk that occupied the center rear of the room. The desk was rich cherry wood, stained dark, with matching chairs. The desk itself was clean, likely since the Major General's secretary would have cleared everything of importance. From a distance, Hess could see a pen and tablet in the center, and that was it for papers.

The right side of the room was the interesting part as far as Hess was concerned. Right and forward, a series of decorative vertical-stand rifle racks stood in front of some glass display cases that ran the length of the entire right-side wall. Hess figured the prior owner was a gun collector, and liked showing off his rare pieces. Halfway down the right side, Hess could recognize some comfortable chairs and what appeared to be a hide-away TV system for flat-screens. The back-right corner consisted of a short pit that was two steps down, padded, and had a punching bag on a ground pedestal, as well as some weight machines and benches.

In terms of artwork, the only thing notable in the room was a picture of five people on the back wall behind the desk, and a family picture on the nightstand near the head of the bed. The latter is where Hess started his check, and the picture caption on the back stated 'Brion and Linda, 9053'. The guy in question was a beefcake, weightlifter for sure, and the lady looked to be the prototypical petite lady, but the eyes of both told a tale. They were soldiers, they were very intelligent, and they were both quite happy in the picture.

"Wonder if I can talk this guy out of his present shithole job, if he is still alive. May be worth it." Hess found an unused hangar in the wall for other pictures and hung it up. With that done, he moved to the larger picture behind the desk.

"Queen Serenity, her husband the Will Transcendent, their daughter Princess Serena, her husband Prince Darien, and the rebellious granddaughter Rini Atrebas," a voice behind him answered his internal question about who was who in the picture.

"All the evacuees are bedded down and good to go?" Hess asked Amy after he turned partway to look at her.

"Yeah, mess hall is working, all utilities are good, and the paratroopers are damn reassuring guards. You're not here just for this, though."

"No," Hess said. "My primary goal when setting out this past morning, was this," and Hess set the deputy's badge down on the desk. "I was deputized by my county sheriff to go into the train and find a killer. I found him and verified dead, but now that I am here, I cannot return verification of that kill. So, my effective primary now is to find my homeland and get word back to involved parties that the main threat is dead."

"And you'll stay there, no?" Amy asked with more of her common belligerence.

"No," Hess said. "In case you missed a given memo on the subject, I have volunteered to Master Executor Tomoe to clean this planet up. I do not break an oath to begin with, and doubly so to someone who is capable of depopulating entire planets with her thoughts."

"Man, you're every bit the asshole I thought you would be," Amy said.

"I make it a point to retort belligerence with sarcasm or wit, whichever strikes me as appropriate at the time," Hess countered. "For the record, though, I am a professional asshole, but I am the friendliest asshole you will probably ever deal with, if you're willing to turn the hostility off."

Amy smiled devilishly. "I'll stop being hostile when you've proven you're on the level."

"Fair enough," Hess said. "You're not here as a tour guide. What's on your mind?" Hess said as he approached the round table.

"I wanted to ask you what your plan is for getting things going on planet. You do realize this world is in a state of calm anarchy and fractured into roughly a thousand unorganized city-states and tribes?"

"I actually expected worse than the presumed conditions on planet," Hess said. When at the table, he unbuckled the front of his combat vest and pulled down the center zipper to free his gear up. "Aww, man, feels good to release myself from the gear set."

"How much is — " She fell silent when Hess reached over his head, grabbed the drag handle, slipped his left arm out, and veritably slung it around onto the table. "That sounds heavy."

"Vest is 65 pounds, the secondary H Harness, pistol belt, and leg rigs come out to around 15. Effectively, 80 pounds not including backpack." Once freed of the vest, he popped the leg straps for his leg platforms, popped the belt buckle, then popped the center buckle on his H Harness shoulder straps. These items he removed in the same way, pull up with right hand, slide left arm out, and swing around onto the table.

"Heavy boots, heavy jeans, heavy belt, heavy shirt even, you probably wear more than some of your subordinates weigh."

Hess chuckled once at her comment. "When you train to fight a nasty battle, that is what you get, nasty preparations." He flopped his vest over so the entire thing was splayed out inside-down on the table. "My shotgun. I take it you did not have to use it?"

"Twice did, sir. Feral dogs in one case, coyote in the other."

"It did the job?" Hess asked.

"They ran," she admitted.

"They have nowhere to run with the walls locked down. You probably should have killed them."

"Okay, I admit it, I missed," she said sarcastically as she took a seat opposite him at the table. "Happy now?"

"That was not me trying to force you to admit anything," Hess countered her belligerence. "Retain it for now. You will need to train with it." Hess took a few moments to pull his ammunition pouch off his vest, then he slid it across the table to her. "Ammo for the shotgun." He opened up his general purpose pouch, pulled a cleaning kit, and slid it over to her. "Cleaning kit for the shotgun. Instructions are on the back. Make sure you unload it completely before you begin cleaning."

Amy was silent for several minutes, just watching the American tend to his gear. After he filled up a couple stripper clips he had pulled out of the dump pouch, then reloaded his pistol magazine from the one-armed-bandit incident, she had to ask. "Do you trust me?"

"Inasfar," the Kentuckian answered. He was inventorying the contents of his pocket organizer, which included two memory cards he set aside. "I am reasonably sure you will act to save your own arse, especially since both you and I are riding these rails just the same. That said, I am also reasonably assured you will follow me to most degrees, since you are assured that doing so is right now your path of least resistance. Trusting you past that, well, we'll call it to a degree. I'm reasonably sure you're not in the wrong, or someone would have warned me by now," _probably_, Hess groused inside his mind. So far, he was flying this whole op by the arse of his pants, and that wasn't always a pleasant feeling. "I guess you could say, I don't know you well enough to say yea or nay on proper level of trust. I mean, all things considered, we did meet for the first time, what? Six hours ago? Less?"

"And you with the others, less than a full day ago," Amy brought the thought full circle. "You do trust them?"

"Again, within limits," Hess answered. "I am not the kind that opens to anyone. Not in my personae. I would readily give anyone the benefit of the doubt, but even that has limitations. I anticipate the same, less actually, from others."

"Wow," she said. "I live on a planet that kills more people before they turn twenty than probably die in your country total in a year, and I have more faith in people."

"If you lived in my home nation, you would either be 100 percent sheeple, or just as paranoid as I am," Hess retorted, though even to himself it was a hollow rebuke. "Anyway, your initial question was 'why am I doing this' if I remember correctly?"

"Yes, it was," Amy noted.

"I live by two things: my skills and my word. I gave my word that I would find a way home for the evacuees, or find them proper residence here. In the execution of 'proper residence', I have a second oath to clean the planet up, which in the process of doing so gives me the option to finance a solution to the first problem, when done right. Now, I turn my skills to the completion to my honor-bound oaths, or I die trying. Binary solution set. One or the other will happen."

Amy regarded the Kentuckian for a few moments, before she chuckled. "You're not paranoid. You're crazy."

"Well, new counter since this is part-way into tomorrow, so that's the first time I've been called crazy today. Let's see if I can beat yesterday's total, eh?"

She nodded. "Alright, big guy. You win this one. You figure out some decent ways to make money, and I'll follow you for more than making it work right."

-x-x-x-

(Year SLR-9063, March 22, 0500 Local)  
(Day 2 of Campaign)  
(Railhead Undercroft, Base Erlanger, Terra 232)

"What was it you called doing this?" Alexander asked the man at the control panel.

"Technically, we're defrauding the Star League by taking the food here for use off the train, but fuck 'em. If they're stupid enough to throw shit-tons of supplies at these trains, well, they're stupid enough to face the pain of their own shortsight. Alena, what's next?"

"Ten units beef roast," Alena read off the list. "For tomorrow, looks like roast beef and vegetables."

"Not a bad meal plan. I hope the cooks are trying to keep this protein-weighted, it will be needed for the volunteers," Hess said even as he was drilling down through the menus of supplies extractable from the temporal storage. After he found the proper item, he selected the maximum four units that could be extracted for it at a time.

"Would be nice," Alexander said. "Anyway, big guy, the meeting is today?"

"Have to be some time today, at least by word of the Master Executor. I figure, just after we're done tossing supplies, they'll show up when we are the dirtiest possible."

"That's the way it usually works," Tyee commented dryly. "So, what are you thinking as our main bacon generator?"

"Capture, disabling, clearing, and disassembling the trains. There are over a hundred thousand of them in service, so we will be busy for years to come. That gives us a base with which to set up more traditional businesses, manufacturing, similar, where we can convert over to a standard economy when the trains run out. The influx of people from each train gives us a population base; each population we bring in, we get them established, then they are on their own. Classic boom town economy scenario; some will make it big, others will scrape along until they find their niche. Done long enough, we just simply expand into new territory."

"All the while, you build a dedicated military force that you use to track down and start scrapping the gangs and guilds that are trying to kill us."

"That's the plan," Hess answered Tyee's estimate.

"Wonder if we could hire some mercs to do the job of flattening the Slaver's guild. Might want to check MercNet… nah, scrap that," Tyee said mostly to himself.

"MercNet?" Hess asked.

"Mercenary Network, MercNet. It's where mercenary units post their services, and where prospective employers post their contract offers," Tyee explained.

"Ass-kickers Anonymous, essentially, only rather than being a twelve-step program cleanup group, MercNet is all about generating more business," Alexander said with a smile.

"Next on the list, Alena?" Hess asked. He filed the info away about MercNet in the back of his mind, convinced that there was more to that story. He would not be disappointed.

"Chicken breasts, boneless skinless, for lunch today," she reported. "Need twenty units."

"Lunch is the weighted meal of the day," Hess told himself. "And to think, at this time yesterday, I was at home, singing along to old Industrial music while reading e-mail and waiting for the weather report on the local news. Never dreamed I would be clearing a Jumper Train, or tossing food boxes from that train for the use in a military-style galley, or even that I would be on a wildly different planet, less than a full day away from a duty that no American has probably ever dreamed of."

"We live in interesting times, boss," Tyee said heartily as Hess threw him the first box.

"Next box set," Hess said after he tossed the first box of chicken breasts (bulk packaging) onto the counter for Tyee to relay to the next guy. The second box went to Alexander, who relayed it on a different column to a different window.

Outside the dining car, a stack of people were waiting to receive an item from the storage unit to take up to the cafeteria facilities. From there, foods would be distributed between the main garrison galley and the command center galley, with the lion's share being for the civilians. A little would be prepared in the command center galley, but the bulk of the activity would be in the proper chow hall.

-x-

In the annals of the Multimage armed forces, there was one entire Division of troops dedicated to doing spooky things for spooky people that really didn't need to be mentioned outside of certain very hush-hush circles. One of those tasks, oddly enough, was summarized by Empress Rini Atrebas as 'ripping off the Star League's territorial dominion, one world at a time, because their inability to control and maintain worlds is a dishonor and embarrassment to my Grandmother's efforts'.

For Century Commander Gerald Lightbringer, Commando Caste Operations Specialist (Mobile Warfare subclassification), ripping off the Star League in any fashion was something of a treat that the Empress occasionally called on him to do. It wasn't that he disliked the Star League, per se; he especially got along with the Executors and their small subdivisions of personnel, but the rest of the SLDF were incompetent, arrogant assholes in his opinion, utterly unfit to tie his bootlaces in the morning. Whenever they got to steppin' on the Magi, it almost always ended badly for the Star League forces, then ended up in the SL General Council, where the Empress usually told them off with finality. After all, NOBODY was going to mess with their boss' Granddaughter, and the SL General Council was no different.

So, when the Century Commander received an order package to go to Terra SL-232, meet up with an American Militiaman, and set him up in a Protectorate of the Multimages, Gerald smiled heartily. He even had the perfect officer from the Commando Caste to drop in as the liaison to the fledgling Protectorate, and he brought her along for the ride. The location information was exceedingly specific as to where he would be on planet, Base Erlanger on the Western Continent, so getting to the neighborhood was not all that difficult.

What he found on arrival after the two officers stepped through a Gate into the yardspace in front of the command center was a bit surprising. "HALT! Who goes there?" A voice shouted from sentry at the front doors. After Gerald focused in on the guy, he could tell he was an old-time American Infantryman, probably World War II era or thereabouts.

"Check fire, paratrooper, I'm with the Multimage Star Empire. Here to speak to Erich Hess about setting up a Protectorate," Gerald answered the challenge quickly.

"Whoa! Didn't think you'd drop in right in front of me, sir," the Infantryman answered. "Hess is in the Railhead Undercroft, pulling supplies for the galley," he said quickly.

"Roger that, I know the way, soldier. As you were." Gerald waved to the one person trailing him to follow, then made for the doors into the building.

"Not that way, sir, that's the long way," the Infantryman said. "Where they're coming out next to the mess hall, take those stairs down, it's helluva shorter."

"Thanks again, trooper," Gerald said with a smile. "If that's the kind of crew he's already built, I think this one has his head screwed on straight."

"For certain, he has a lot of civilians and has them up and about, not just moping around," the lady following the Century Commander said. "This guy is not a product of the Star League, for certain."

"He's technically a mythological being," Gerald said with a chuckle. "American Militiaman. We keep hearing the term, but after roughly 1860, you can't really find them. I'd be surprised to know what exact year he came from." Gerald waited for some civilians to clear out of the stairs, carrying large boxes of frozen boneless chicken breasts up into the galley. "He must be planning on feeding a battalion or two." After these box-bearers were clear, the two Magi officers bolted down the stairs, since Gerald could hear the complaining of the next transporters coming.

"Huh? Hey, you, halt!" Another person shouted after Gerald arrived down on the passenger terminal. "Who are you with?" The guy in question also looked like a North American resident, or possibly pan-European, but the M60 he was swinging gave him plenty of authority over personnel movement in the area.

"Multimages, _amigo_," Gerald responded calmly. "I am here to speak with Erich Hess. You him?"

"No, Hess is in the train, in the car that they're tossing boxes out of right now," and the guy pointed.

"Enter here or there?" Gerald indicated first the train's caboose, then second the car where the supplies were coming out of..

"God, no, not here!" the guy said. "We've swept the train once, but it's not completely cleared. You go in there, you're taking a shit-ton of chances before you even get to Hess."

"Huh," the lady trailing Gerald groused. "Is a shit-ton anything like a metric assload?" She asked in jest.

"Think a shit-ton weighs more, ma'am," the guy (probably a college student, gauging by his backpack) said. "Loop around to the number five engine, take the front stairs up, and backtrack until you arrive at Hess. He'll be hard to miss. Look for the big Germanic dude with the leg rigs and the shoulder harness."

"Got it, thanks. As you were," Gerald said before he passed. "He was an American," Gerald said. "Going by accent, probably west coast, turn of the 21st or so."

"Did they really disable this thing?" the lady following the Century Commander asked.

"Oh yes, but they had at least technical help. There is an Executor around here. I can sense her," Gerald said. "Going by her base projected traits, I'd have to guess one of Lord Tenchi's disciples." Of the First Six Executors, Gerald had the most strife going between himself and Lord Tenchi, though in all reality it was a friendly rivalry. Usually, anything between himself and Tenchi came out to be a case of differences of operational opinion, not a real problem per se.

"Ah," she said. "The Paladin, the holy mages, the priests and priestesses, the just and honorable planet-killers," the lady said with a clear hint of derision. "Blink or teleport over there?" She was referring to the distance they would have to travel to arrive at the car where all the action was going on. Unlike most of the trains, this one was completely visible, which meant the whole 200-car length had to be traversed.

"Walk it," Gerald ordered. "Give them time to finish tossing the goods."

-x-

"Anything else needed on the supply list? Utensils, sanitation, etcetera?" Hess asked.

"Yeah, something called Gojo? What is that?"

"Gojo is a high-power hand scrub, used by industrial workers to clean up, especially in greasy environments," Hess went looking for it in the menu tree. "I love the stuff, except during the dead of winter when my knuckles got so dried out they would bleed all over things." Hess pulled the temporal storage unit open after it dinged on him, and tossed the case of Gojo out for another guy to pick up. "All right, that is the food supply for the next couple days, now we do breakfast here for the inside crew."

"What's for breakfast, boss?" Alexander asked.

"I was thinking burgers and fries, personally. I am not one for traditional breakfast foods."

"Works for me, sir!" Alexander said as he took seat at the counter. "Hit me up with a double house special!"

"And I, sir," Tyee said.

"I'll take a McHess as well, if you're willing to cook for a visitor," an unfamiliar voice said.

Hess looked the two new entrants over quickly, and figured he knew what the game was. "Magi?"

"Not getting any crap past your radar, am I?" he said with a smile. "Century Commander Gerald Lightbringer, Commando Caste." Gerald reached across the counter for a handshake.

Hess took the offered hand without hesitation. "Erich Hess, Kentucky Unorganized Militia, now kinda-sorta in limbo," he said. "I'll certainly cook for a guest, no prob. You as well?" Hess asked the second newcomer in the room.

"Definitely," she answered. "Star Captain Gina, Commando Caste as well."

"Welcome to both of ye to Terra 232," Hess said while diddling with the control panel. "So, I take it you two are the reps sent by Empress Atrebas?"

"_Hai_, that is the purpose of the visit," Gerald said. "The Empress also wanted us to eyeball you, see if her friend's report on you was accurate. So far, I'm liking what I'm seeing to a degree above what was reported."

"Okay then," Hess said with a smile while he pulled open the temporal dispenser. Inside, he had a slew of supplies for making hamburgers, including ground beef balls instead of the typical pre-formed patties. "Comments like that always bring to mind an eternal question: when shall the anvil fall, and whose name has been stamped on it?"

"Don't like the limelight?" the lady asked.

"I considered it a good day at work, when I did my job to the fullest extent, without ever being seen or heard by anyone Manager or above."

Gerald barked a short laugh. "I know that feeling well! If I could hide my existence from the Brass some days, I would have found it by now. Still, the Star Captain's question does bring up a point. If you're going to do this, you're going to be in the limelight permanently."

"Oh, yes, definitely understood," Hess said as he began dropping the burger balls onto the grill surface. To compress it from a ball into an actual patty, he placed a press plate on top of each burger pair he sat down. Once those were cooking, he dumped some bacon strips onto a different section of the grill, and then turned his attention to a brick of Colby cheese and a knife. "I know it will be there, probably a lot more pervasive than even I can initially imagine, but occasionally you just have to suck it up and truck on. Who knows? Maybe my infamy will get back around to home after a while."

"Infamy? You aren't planning anything that will make you a star on the 1800-hours newsfeeds, are you?" the lady asked after a few.

"Pfft. The hallmark of a good plan is one that works. The hallmark of a great plan is one that works repeatedly. A spectacular plan, however, works only once because people talk about it for the rest of known history. King Leonidas at Thermopylae is a classic example. That said, not what I am aiming for," Hess said. "Fame? Could care less about being famous, if I ever felt like expending effort on caring less. Fortune also doesn't much matter to me, inasfar as it exceeds what I need to get the job done. I'm in this one for the promise to these guys, and others, to get them home. And, for the promise of cleaning this planet up so I can pay for the necessary skillsets to get these guys home."

"I sense a 'but' in there somewhere," Star Captain Gina said.

"Oh no, not a 'but', rather an 'and' on that thought string. As in, 'And' I shall do all of the above with a smile on my face, or die trying, because I am a hardass American Tea Partier Militiaman, and when faced with a laundry list of things going wrong, I start fixing them one problem at a time until I run out of list or draw my last breath." Hess sighed, cutting up an onion for garnishing of the burgers. "So, I guess you could call that my operating concept," Hess noted as he turned his back to the counter and began flipping the burgers. "So, where do we begin, Century Commander?"

"Oh, we've already begun," Gerald said. "One of the first things we check is the temperament of the involved people. So far, I'm not seeing anything to worry about if you are willing to throw supply boxes for civilian support operations. You're not a do-nothing noble type of person, and if you're Tea Party, you're not a welfare statist or tyrant in the making, two things that do not fly among the Magi or its Protectorates. Tea Party is anti-statist, anti-marxist, if I remember my old American history, right?"

"Correct," Hess answered.

"Also good. One thing that was flagged with that affiliation, social issues. Your position?"

The Kentuckian took a minute to dump some fries in the fryer while he considered the most accurate answer. "Neutral on most issues," Erich said while flipping the bacon. "My attitude is best summed up as, if they ain't pissing on they neighbors, I don't care. What someone does consensually and in their own ward is their game, not mine." Hess sighed. "I know what the flag was probably about. If you're worried about me being one of the super-religious Tea Partiers, bury those concerns. The one segment of the Tea Party that scared the shit out of me was the super-religious ones. Most personable people you would ever deal with, but their concepts and driving ideas, holy shit. Erm, no pun intended," he tacked on after a moment. "A lot of their ideas could be summed up as 'Christian Theocracy', and good God do I not want to see one of those married to modern technologies. The last few Christian Theocracies on my home world, shit got bloody quick and stayed that way for decades. No, I will not go there, and I will actively work against such a formation."

"Okay, that settles that," Gerald said. "So, I guess the question now comes down to how you want to go about this?"

"How is the Multimage Empire run?" Hess asked.

"Military executed, charter-limited direct democracy with modifications. The citizens vote on issues, the military executes them so long as they do not violate the base rights and positions," the Star Captain answered.

The Kentuckian took a minute to mull it over while he continued cooking down the burgers. By putting severe limitations on the actual ability of the government to use the people against themselves, and by executing the bulk of the issues through the military itself, Hess figured he could keep a fairly tight rein on government excess. More so that this wasn't a socialist-corrupted society that was trying to centralize power and authority in the government. "Okay, that works," Hess said. "The technology is in place to make that efficient and effective, so I might as well. And I can go through the laundry list of United States Government failures to tailor a limiter document to prevent such repeated FUBAR. And, of course, the people get to be the final line of defense."

"Excellent," Gerald said. "I'll give you a copy of the Charter and Codicil so you can see where you want to go, especially adding the American failures to the list. I guess that will do the job there, especially with you at the helm?"

"For now, probably. If the people find someone better, they can always boot me and elect him or her in," Hess said.

"Okay, then, you'll need to set up a staff structure. Also, Protectorates are considered legally-bound entities under the Charter, as such that makes you a corporation as well as a government. How do you want to run it?"

"Holding company with completely-owned subsidiaries, privately traded," Erich said as he began pulling the burgers and bacon to assemble the sandwiches. Each McHess was 2 patties, weighing 1/3 a pound per pattie at cook time, with two strips of colby per pattie, pickles, ketchup, bacon, lettuce, tomato, on a sesame seed bun. After the sandwich was assembled, he added fries to the platter and served first Gerald, then Gina, and his two shooters (Alexander and Tyee) parallel. Alena received a Junior McHess, which was only one pattie of a slightly smaller size, but topped the same and still served with fries and a carton of milk. The last burgers went to Asako and Sancia, who came in when they heard from Jeff that there were visitors in the area. Final sandwich went to Hess.

"Holding company… planning on expanding?" The Star Captain asked.

"Yes, fate willing, and subdividing," Hess responded. "I intend to run each segment of operations as a separate sub-corporation, such as one for governance functions, one for search-rescue-and-return operations, one for clearing and disassembling the trains, one for major military operations, similar. I take it all of that will have to be filed with the Magi equivalent of the Securities and Exchange Commission?"

"Registrar of Commercial Entities, RCE," Gerald said. "You can do just about all of that work over HPG transmissions. If they have anything major, they'll send a guy out to talk to you."

"Nice, at least I am not required to lick certain agency boots to keep my business legal."

Gerald snorted. "Not in the Magi. The Old Emperor watched five hundred years of abject failures around the homeworld before he built the Empire as we know it today. We haven't repeated those mistakes, and seeing an instance of America collapse under our observation every few decades simply reinforces the lessons."

"Nice, very nice," Hess said.

"Okay, gotta ask, what did you season these with?" Star Captain Gina asked. "Tastes quite a bit different from what I normally do."

"Season salt, garlic powder, oregano, and just a dash of cumin," Hess answered. "It's the oregano that throws people, initially."

"Oregano and cumin, have to remember that," she said. "I'm liking it, thanks for the sandwich."

"I think we've established what we need to know, ne?" Gerald asked his subordinate.

"All that remains is for the big guy to put it into practice," Gina confirmed.

"Okay, Erich Hess, final call. In or out?" Gerald asked.

"I didn't start this lovely tea party just to bail out after the first shot of vodka," Hess said with a raised eyebrow. "In."

"Okay, sign here," Gerald said; everyone at the counter could tell he was trying to suppress a giggling fit. He slid a single piece of paper with a computer attachment in the upper right corner.

Hess read the short text on the document quickly. _I hereby swear to uphold my office as established by my Protectorate status until the term of Protection is completed, or replaced through nominal means of the Protectorate Charter or founding documents_, Erich read through it twice, then used the provided pen to sign.

"All right, to finalize the document, do a fingerprint on the biometric plate," Gerald said. "Secure Document System, designed to prevent identity fraud."

"Got it," Hess provided a thumbprint, which he did not normally use for biometric. "Done."

"All right. Star Captain Gina will help you get the rest of the documentation set up and get things rolling for your corporate interests. Do you have some spare quarters?"

"Yeah, one of the Brigadier's quarters up in the command center," the Kentuckian noted.

"Here's the number for the Protectorate," Gerald handed Gina a number on a slip of paper. "One last thing, Hess."

"Sir?"

"Watch your ass. This is rough territory, and the Star League will be looking for any excuse possible to challenge your Protectorate status. You may be under the Magi, that doesn't mean you're bulletproof."

"Marines and Fighter Pilots require frequent reminders that they are not Superman. I'm already pretty well convinced otherwise," Hess acknowledged the point.

Gerald laughed outright at Hess' rejoinder. "I am looking forward to your outcomes, big guy. Good luck!"

"And now the fun begins for real," Alexander noted with a smile. "So, welcome to the party, Star Captain."

"A pleasure," Gina answered.

"Well, I've had my morning weight-throw, breakfast, and by technicality some interdimensional relations. Not even 0700 local yet. Let's see how strange this day gets before I pull the plug."

"I can tell you what's next, more paperwork," Star Captain Gina said with a smile to take the sting out of it. Hess frowned mightily, but said nothing. In all reality, he expected it.

-x-x-x-

(Year SLR-9063, March 23, 1200 Local)  
(Day 3 of Campaign)  
(Conference room, Second floor of Command Center, Base Erlanger, Terra 232)

"Always the interesting problems," Hess said. "Okay, the only major one I want to copy over from the Constitution and Amendments is number three, and the old Writs of Marque and Reprisal, since the merc world is a bit dirtier than the Star Empires. The rest are already there, in stronger form, or not applicable."

"Third Amendment?" Asako asked. From a brief stint as a foreign exchange student, she knew all the major ones — 1, 2, 4, 5, 6, 7, 13, 14, 15, 19, 24 and 26. She also didn't know most of the en bloc of the constitution; were she put to a test, it would be obvious that her 'social studies' instructor rather blatantly failed the teaching on those sections, and cherry-picked what amendments she thought would be important.

"Rarely ever heard of," Hess said. "No quartering of soldiers on private property during peacetime."

"Ah," the Star Captain said. "Magi never had problems with such issues — either the private property in question was a military officer's property that was volunteered, or the quartering only happened during wartime and in circumstances where the property was in the line of battle."

"Not doing the tax structure in the Charter?" Cyrene asked.

"Already is. Tax consumption only, no income tax," Hess answered. "The loudest fail in the Constitution and Amendments is the 16th Amendment — the ability to tax income directly. Nothing like feeding the beast so it can bribe you with your own money." He sighed. "And, especially with income from Protectorate-owned businesses and train disassembly, we won't need a lot of tax base to do the job."

"And we still want to pull the Trial By Combat regulations out?" Asako asked, looking down that part of the documents.

"Aye," Hess answered. "Much as I find that system interesting, not a good idea in this scenario. We could theoretically go live, get called to Trial of Possession 5 minutes later, and end up out of a job when some no-neck dumbass with an aggressive streak decides to fist fight us for it. Of course, in the second-level legal structure, I intend plenty of recourse to cover for the Trials — and since we are a Protectorate, we are required to honor Call to Combat by Magi personnel."

"Don't expect much of that, except for a Trial of Position here and there if someone in the Touman wants in on your action," the Star Captain said. "Of course, if you screw some pooch, you may end up in another Trial entirely."

"I try to avoid screwing any pooches in my day-to-day affairs," Erich said adroitly.

"Good to kn —" Gina was interrupted by three knocks at the door.

"Enter," Hess said.

"Sir, lunch has arrived," Alexander noted. "Got five plates here."

"One for you, Alexander," Asako pointed out.

"Come on in, anyway, I want your opinion on something," Hess said.

Alexander waved the cook's assistant in. Hess didn't recognize her from one of the galley staff on the Train, but he did recognize her from the refugee pool of the extracted personnel. "Meals for everyone, sir. Anything else?" she asked.

"Not at present," Hess said after everyone else acknowledged nothing needed.

"Grilled chicken in marinara, pasta, and some kind of cold veggie?" Alexander asked.

"Kale Grass," Hess said. "I love the stuff. Blend it up into veggie-base drinks, damn good nutrition value. Weird taste if you eat it separate."

"You say so, sir," Alexander replied dubiously. "Anyway, what did you want my opinion on?"

"Education standards," Hess said. "I noticed you are quite solicitous to the kids. Family on your homeworld?"

"Did have," Alexander admitted between bites of the chicken. "Slavers again, sir. When I told my wife and kids to run, they were mowed down by one of the slavers using an automatic shotgun. I was too heartbroken at that time to resist, but when I did, their days ended very abruptly."

"Damn, sorry man. Didn't mean to — "

"No worries, sir," Alexander said. "Never mentioned it. Anyways, I was trying to protect the kids because of that. So, where do you want my opinion?"

"Education. What are the standards on your world?"

"If you're talking all children, none," he said. "Only the children of the wealthy go to any formalized school. If you could bring the cost down, it would make things more accessible."

"Okay, not exactly the direction of answer I was looking for, but it gives me an idea," Hess said. "Okay, we'll do this. What say you to mandated K to 8, 10 hours with frequent breaks. On the backside of that, open options. Can jump into the workforce, trade school, secondary college prep, apprenticeship, family business, or break out on their own. Strikes a balance between the Magi position and the Japanese position, and mostly bypasses the effective failures of the American system."

"I still say, full education for all," Asako said.

"Define 'full', and how it relates to every combination of position in the workforce," Hess asked after a moment. She had no response, to which the Kentuckian continued. "I do not denigrate the Japanese system, but the effectiveness of schooling in Japan is due to different technique and different culture. In Japan, everyone is expected to succeed to one degree or another, and there is an expectation of job availability to put those skills to use. In America, if you make it to the end of High School without dropping out, or worse, getting shot by the rampant inner-city gangs, you're doing good but you're still effectively unprepared for anything more than stocking shelves — and sometimes not even that." Hess could still clearly remember some of his coworkers at his part-time job during his college days, and more than a few were unfit to stock shelves. It wasn't a Kentucky thing, either — some of the rejects he had outlived in the position were from New York, Illinois (Chicago, specifically), Missouri, Alabama, Louisiana, and South Carolina. So much for varying education standards, when one could make a case for across-the-board failure. _No Child Left Behind strikes again; statistics and film at eleven_, Hess thought.

"Okay, but something must be done," Asako conceded.

"Like I said, provide options. Trade schooling, apprenticeship to skilled tradesmen, college is certainly an option once we establish some, I am certainly not saying that the process needs to end at 8th grade. Hell, the Magi compulsory system pulls the plug at 6th grade, and nobody can accuse the average Magi citizen of being a dumbass. Going by their education standards, they do more in 6 years than I did in 12 years of average rural school systems. There will be some that break out early, go right into the workforce after they escape required school, but I have the regulations written up for that already."

"You have some manner of other reason for this," Asako accused Hess.

"Yes and no," Erich answered adroitly. "No, this is the primary driving force, the school system, which leads to the Yes side of the answer. I went through, aced my classes, did a 2 year degree, professional certifications, and landed a good job with room for promotion. In 12 years, I ended up the highest-paid out of anyone in my high school graduating class, excepting one dentist, and I still am better off than her because I don't have 300,000 in student loan debt. 68 persons graduating in my high school class, out of 80 when we started the Freshman year. I'm the only one that averaged better than 60,000 a year after College. It's not a functional school system when the students use High School as a dating service or an intermediate stop before they go to their evening jobs. I'm not here to squander the resources of another planet to build a dating service for horny teenagers. If you put the onus on those same teenagers to pull their own weight after the minimums are met, you'll see a good amount of failures, but you'll see a lot more teenagers learn early on how to do it right."

"School of hard knocks," Alexander acknowledged. "You do have allowances for farming or similar family trades?"

"I intend them," Hess answered.

"Still think is wrong," Asako groused.

"If I was setting up a new government in Japan especially, or Asia in general, where there is a cultural expectation of proper education, I would definitely do it different. Since we are here, on SL232, with a population that has effectively run amok for a decade and we are extracting a mixed bag off the trains, the rules are wildly different and the game has to be adjusted accordingly. Remember, we're not building a high-tech society, yet."

"Okay, okay, surrender," Asako put her hands up in the classic surrender pose. "What next?"

Hess picked up his checklist with his left hand, while chomping on a sprig of Kale Grass using his right hand. "Okay, we've got government structure covered, business structure covered, civil requirements covered, education standards, and territory is a moot point since the planet will be listed as ours. Since we do not yet have established diplomatic ties, we don't need to worry about ambassadorships just yet. All in all, I think we have everything so far covered that we need to file. The rest we can establish as secondary laws before we go live or as needed afterward."

"Only one field we bypassed," Star Captain Gina noted. "We bypassed a name for the organization."

"Recommendations?" Hess asked the gathered persons.

"Oh!" Asako half-shouted. "Nanten or Hokuten!" Hess simply shook his head neg, even though he was smiling about it. "Why you no like? You know where from?"

"Yes, Final Fantasy Tactics," Hess answered. "Easily one of my favs in the series. Which means, given my luck, those names probably exist in real life somewhere else in the many parallel dimensions. I want to avoid confusion on that note."

"I've got nothing," Cyrene opined.

"Anything from the Liaison?" Hess asked after Alexander shrugged his shoulders.

"You could use your name?" she suggested.

"I am nowhere near that narcissistic, but it is a valid opti — " Hess was interrupted mid-sentence by a knock at the door. "Enter," he ordered.

"Sir, the mess guys wanted to clear something with you before they planned it out," Jeff Evans requested. "They want to pull a week's supply from the Train."

"No dice, we do that and the Star League Quartermasters will immediately know something is up," Cyrene flattened that plan before Hess could even begin saying the same thing.

"We're pushing it, doing this in two-day increments. We really need to get things going on our own, so anything we bilk from the trains becomes extra larder for settling refugees, not our primary food source," Hess said. "The less reliance on big government, the better."

"Got it, sir. By your leave?"

"I am not royalty, Jeff," Hess rebuked the aerospace / engineering student; he did not want to set a precedent of people treating him as royalty, regardless of what power he was going to wield. "But before you go, one question for you."

"Shoot, sir," Jeff said, then remembered who he was talking to. "Erm, not really shoot, sir, but shoot."

"We've got everything set up for the Protectorate and underlying corporate models. The only thing we're missing is a name, and this table is drawing blanks. You got a suggestion?"

"Uh," Jeff bemoaned, caught unawares by such a question. After a moment, a random thought came to mind. "Sigma, sir."

"Sigma?" Hess asked rhetorically. After a moment, his eyebrows raised prominently. "Multimage Protectorate of Sigma. Sigma Holdings, Sigma Rail Guard, Sigma Planetary, Sigma Slave Hunters, Sigma Commercial, I think that works out pretty well."

"Sigma Mercenaries, if you decide to go that route," Gina noted, since Hess had already shown an interest in the MercNet take from the HPG network.

"I think we have a winner," Hess said. "Objections?"

"None," Alexander said. "That name… foreboding and comforting, in my native language's ears."

"None," Cyrene said.

"Nope, not from me, I like it," Gina noted.

"Name is related to the Greek God of Death in mystic circles," Asako pointed out.

"Given what the Slave Hunters intend, you know, eliminating the Slaver Guilds one guildmember at a time until they run out of personnel, that is not a bad thing," Hess said with an evil smile and intonation. "Two points for Jeff Evans. This one is done."

"Protectorate of Sigma, paperwork is ready for filing now," Gina said. "I'll have it uploaded within the hour. I think this is going to cause some panites to be mystically wadded in the SL General Council,but I'll certainly enjoy it."

-x-x-x-

(Year SLR-9063, March 24, 0900 Local)  
(Day 4 of Campaign)  
(HPG Station, Base Erlanger, Terra 232)

Once the paperwork was filed and the Protectorate went officially live (after the Empress signed off on it, which was told to have been roughly 12 minutes after the HPG transmission went out), Erich Hess became the effective forces commander of the Protectorate of Sigma. Which, in reality, amounted to roughly twenty persons, two liaisons from other governments that he really didn't have authority over, and his own bad self. Technically, he didn't even have enough men to properly occupy and hold the Command Center of Fortress Erlanger, but so far there was no organized resistance in the area that gave a rip about the base.

On the other hand, he did have an effective national population of about 500 persons, counting some more refugees that had come off the Train. And he did have the infrastructure to support everyone in comfortable quarters, and with decent meals.

The critical thing, though, was the status as a nation-state now. With that, Sigma had access — HPG access to any resource needed, access to monetary exchange and banking, and most importantly to the armaments and resources manufacturers that would make this gig work.

Being a Protectorate of the Magi, one of their policies was to make bridge loans available to fledgling Protectorates, for defensive and infrastructure requirements. Hess had not signed up for one, yet, mainly because he had no effective way to pay it back yet. The expected take from the Train Scrapping project would be marvelous, but not enough or regular enough to justify as a permanent source of income. He needed something… stable, for lack of a better word, something he could use as an exportable good or skill that would provide for Sigma for years, decades to come.

Sigma needed a position on MercNet, since he was well stocked with people willing to kick ass, and some of them had even said they'd do merc work for bucks if the price was right. Hell, Hess considered himself willing to cap someone else's enemy if the price was right; 'skillset exportable' as the old techie joke went, and in certain cases Hess considered his combat skills usable for that purpose. Especially when the price paid helped finance a way home for his people.

"Not seeing where this is workable, sir," Alissa noted.

"These are the kinds of contracts that most trans-Empire Merc Units consider the dregs, not even their bread and butter," Star Captain Gina said. "No way you could scratch-build a force to compete with that, even under a bridge loan that would be considered dubious."

"Aye, and nor would I even consider trying," Hess admitted. "Not for a long while at least."

Hess watched the MercNet contracts rotate, and after a moment he noticed something in the listing that didn't make sense. "Wait a second, am I reading that right? Thirty-sixth entry, fourth panel."

"Yeah, had to be a ComStar transcription glitch. No way the Imperial Japanese would be able to afford that kind of service," Gina said. "The ComStar bloke that put it in is probably retyping it right now, back to the proper price they're probably offering."

"Okay, explain that to me. The Star Empires and independent planets, even the Inner Sphere houses I can understand coughing up multi-million C-bill contracts, but why would the Imperial Japanese be posting anything?"

"They post low-value contracts, on the hopes that a Merc Unit sends them a lance or two to do the job, if they have a ship in the area and it won't cost them anything major to do it. Usually, it's posted in vain, those contracts sit until their expiration date and they are stripped out of the system."

Hess watched through to the next refresh a minute after Gina finished her explanation. True to her statement, the Imperial Japanese contract request disappeared, but didn't show up elsewhere in the listings. "The results are being filtered."

"What, sir?" Alissa asked. She had volunteered to manage the HPG commo, as a way to pay back the help from Hess on the first day, even if he did have a strange way of getting people's attention.

"There's a filter in place to clear contracts below a certain threshold. Find it, invert it."

"Standard practice," Gina answered. "Most Merc units won't even think about a contract below 2 million."

"Exactly," Hess answered. "Find the filter controls, set them to show contracts only below 2 million c-bills or material equivalent."

"Okay," Alissa replied dubiously. After a few moments, she found the necessary filter controls. She started by allowing all forms of material compensations, then changed the filter parameters to any contract below 2 million C-bills. "Executing filtering now."

The HPG system took several seconds to re-filter the results, which was surprising to Hess given the power of the systems involved. The take, however, was less than surprising to him. "Look at that, over 3 million hits. And a lot of those contracts are against forces that Captain Foley could flex his whang in their general direction to cause them to fall over and spontaneously die."

Star Captain Gina stifled a snigger at the schoolyard humor. "Okay, what about them? Even if you fly standby on Jumpships, you couldn't afford to do those."

"And for that, I think I have a plan." Hess pressed the talk button his headset. "Cyrene, please come to the HPG station when possibl - whoa!" He choked his request off after she dropped in by teleport. "No way in Hell will I get used to this."

"All things in time, big guy," the Executor said. "So, what is on your mind? Cheap-seat contracts?"

"Getting to and from them, actually. What is the cost of using a dedicated Gate Mage to get back and forth from the job site?"

"More than the average cost of using Jumpship transport. You're gaining speed of deploy, but you're paying more." Cyrene folded her arms over her rather notable chest. "You are thinking something."

"The Gate Engines on the train down below. If we pull those engines, will they work outside of the Train frame?"

"I would believe so, sure," she answered.

"What kind of expertise do I need to hire in to make that transition?"

"I'll get a Jump Engineer with enough of a wild hair to try. I see what you are planning, and I think it will fly."

"You have got to be the most crazy-inventive Protectorate leader I have ever heard of," SC Gina noted. "The longer I hang around, the more I like this job!"

"Pfft. This ain't no job, it's an adventure," Alissa said with some reverence.

"If we get the Jump Engine working on power alone, and replaceable parts maint, we can go anywhere we want for pennies on the dollar," Hess said with a smile. "No trans cost, no trans delay, all I need is a force of hardass mercs to do the jobs and it is game on."

-x-x-x-

(Year SLR-9063, March 25, 0100 Local)  
(Day 5 of Campaign)  
(Personal Quarters of Sigma One, Base Erlanger, Terra 232)

Erich had 'liberated' a large whiteboard from one of the downstairs conference rooms, and Alexander helped him mount it to the wall in his quarters, the southern wall nearby the round table, so he could use the board with groups to help do informal / classified planning sessions. It also meant that he could do his own planning sessions, especially after he found a wall-sized map with major cities, SLDF military bases, and some other interesting odds and ends germane to running a fledgling nation (such as the prior planetary capital or some known underground oil reserves).

The Kentuckian also found himself a welcome slice of home, inadvertently, by way of his own smartphone. Effectively useless on this world (T-Mobile did not have any service on Terra 232), it still possessed its data files and archives, with three dozen gigabytes of compressed music files. Essentially, 550 hours of music, or in excess of 22 days continuous play without repeating a single song on the device (excluding duplicate files, though Hess tried to trim all that down ruthlessly). The entertainment center on the east wall of his room had connections for USB devices, which seemed otherwise illogical to Hess until someone explained that present technology was a derivation of what tech the Magi had ripped off anyone they came across. Universal Serial Bus was alive and well, and still backwards compatible all the way to USB1 standard, especially since such cheap devices and open standards were loved in all the Star Empires. After all, the Magi were less inclined to reinvent certain wheels when it was far easier to simply 'borrow' the technology from others.

It was to the tune of _The House Of The Rising Sun_ that someone beeped his door for entry. "Music, low," Hess ordered, which dropped the whole-room audio system to just-barely-audible. "Door," he ordered next, which opened the door up for whoever was on the far side.

"I figured you would still be awake," Lady Cyrene said as she preceded someone else into the room. Truth to tell, Hess did not recognize the guy at all, but really didn't concern with him yet. There was likely a reason he was following Cyrene around, and Hess figured he would know soon enough.

"I find since I left home, I only get about four hours of sleep any way I cut it, so I might as well make good use of those extra four hours in the day." He would not admit that he was losing hours of sleep to nightmares, but not for making himself look like a pussy. He didn't need people wasting effort on his mental or sleep state when far worse problems existed.

"That reminds me. Five day workweek, or six?" Cyrene asked as she took a seat at the round table so she could see what Hess had on the whiteboard.

"Think I'll leave that to personal choice," Hess said. "Some peeps will work seven straight, others would prefer a four-up-three-down. And then there are the Specialists, who end up working all hours, all days, entirely at random," he said the last more as a prompt to the newcomer.

"Rod Zelgen, Gate Engine Specialist," the newcomer offered his hand for a shake. "Executor Curone says you have a plan for me."

Hess took the offered hand readily. "Indeed I do, Rod. Before we continue, though, what's your inclination for breaking the rules?"

"Depends on who wrote the rules," Rod answered immediately. "You, the Magi, or the Star League?"

"Star League," Hess said. "The SL General Council, in their infinite lack of wisdom on this subject, has decreed that the Jumper Trains are supposed to remain in service as a 'heritage' thing. The Executors want them out of service. I want the engines from those trains in service for personal use as a mode of transportation for Sigma's troops, and I want the rest of the train cleared, stripped, disassembled and scrapped for parts or salvage. Follow?"

"Loud and clear, sir," Rod said with a smile. "I used to fix the engines on those things, until the job got too dangerous. Couldn't cut into the Jump Engineer Guild, so I've been floating below my paygrade since, fixing odds and ends equipment here and there."

"I've heard that story a few times," Sigma One said sympathetically. "Okay, here's the operating concept, I need a verification if it is doable. We extract the engines out of one or more of a Jumper Train's engine cars, mount them to solid ground, run power and control systems from land-based fusion reactors and a control system yet to be engineered, then use these Gate Engines to move unspecified materials or forces from one location to another. Solid or fail?"

"Shit, sir, definitely solid! If you bury a series of the Gate Engines in the ground, set their Gate Actuation to a specific height and vertical lapse to a specific distance, and then give it static destination coordinates, the array of engines will consistently drop your material or manpower wherever the hell you tell them to go."

"Safety requirements?" Hess asked.

"We can make sure to programmatically prevent any headchopping (1) with a minimum altitude start, and we can build a special gate platform to prevent the gate from going below ground and accidentally damaging the engines or taking off with the pavement you put above the engine systems."

"Power requirements?" Hess asked next after he made some side notes on the whiteboard for what was mentioned.

"Pull the fusion reactors from the train engines, you have all the power you'll need and more. If you build in an accumulator, you could pipe in the other fusion reactors in base to add to it," the Specialist noted.

"The four reactors under the command center, Cyrene. Two active, two hot spares. Reroute those hot spares to add to the Gate Engines?"

"Easily," the Executor answered.

"Okay, how many engines are required to do how much? And can you reconfigure their area of effect?"

"Freaking easily," the Gate Engineer said. "Used to test them by creating different sizes and shapes of gate transfers, and I'll admit I used them to forcibly deport an ex or two in my time," Rod said with a devilish grin. "Woman scorned versus Gate Engine tech. Alimony is such a bitch to pay when you're underemployed, so…"

"Knowing company, Rod, no worries," Cyrene said. "Dumped a few leeches in my time."

"And if you have any outstanding alimony or child support, I am by law not allowed to collect it," Erich said. Two of the most heavily-abused legal judgments in America, in many persons' opinions, were said institutions. Hess deliberately did not translate them along to the Protectorate, since that incentivized divorce and acrimonious conduct, or alternately incentivised having kids one after another and then using the father(s) as a non-present larder to pay for the mother's lifestyle.

"Good to know I'm not dealing with politicians or divorce lawyers in the audience. Back to the question, yes, the gate area can be reconfigured. Each engine puts out a gate snap of 5600 square meters, which is on the order of 60,000 square feet or so. Forty cars, 100 foot length per car, fifteen feet width is how the Dynasty assembled them, and you can chain together more cars by using more engines. So, you string together five of those engines, you're talking 300,000 square feet of material to move in one snap. Say, a field measured 600 feet long and 500 feet wide, which is easily big enough to snap through two standard battalions of unarmored infantry and some vehicles."

"Son of a bitch," Hess said, before he wrote down a rough conversion factor (5 engines per Battalion to be moved). "Move a whole freaking regiment on ten engines, easily," Hess said. "Smallest train is 100 cars, 3 engines?"

"Would be, the Dynasty never put out a smaller assembly than that, but I think they consolidated to 200 as a minimum for deep-strike raids, gave them enough force to make things troublesome for the Magi. Their larger trains are 2000 cars or longer, fifty engines."

"And, for getting a force back, the Magi have a special beacon system their special operations troops carry, they light up the beacon, a Gate Mage brings them back," Cyrene said. "We could mod those to call the Gate Control here to jump the teams back."

"That's the puzzle," Hess said. "Contracts. Movement to. Return trip. All I need now are the forces."

"You could always call for volunteers," Cyrene said.

"Can I volunteer, sir?" Rod asked. "Since the SL isn't paying enough to maintain those engines nowadays, can I sign up with you to disassemble 'em? That is, after you entrap, disable, and clear the things."

Hess made a couple more annotations on his board. "What's your salary rate for forty hours a week?"

"Forty a week? I'll do it for 12,500 and boarding."

Hess was silent for a few seconds while he made some more notes. "Best you make arrangements to have your personal effects brought here, Mister Zelgen. You will be a very busy man in years to come, because I want one of these rigs on each Sigma base and redundancy in the critical facilities. Hear me?"

"Loud and clear, sir," Rod said with a smile.

-x-x-x-

(Year SLR-9063, March 25, 0700 Local)  
(Day 5 of Campaign)  
(METARgraphic (2) Training Field North, Base Erlanger, Terra 232)

"Fire in the hole," Hess said mostly to himself before he thumbed the detonator in his left hand. A small blasting charge on the door handle of the main door blew it open for him, to which he immediately came around the corner and made entry. It was his first time using C2 blasting charges, though after having studied the procedures for years, everything worked as advertised.

The main entry room was effectively clear — there was one pop-up target, but it turned out to be a protect target of a lady holding a cell phone and a baby. His options were stairs up, stairs down, or door right, so he went right with his AR-15 leading the way. The light became his lifesafer as he entered the darkened room, as a popup target awaited him inside — a guy holding a butcher knife in one hand and a pistol in the other. Two simulated 5.56 rounds went into his chest, a third in the head, and Hess swept the room for secondary threats (none).

Through the next door, a hallway extended left and right, the right side only about two feet total distance to a window, but it included a popup target as well — a lady with a baseball bat and a rifle over her shoulder. Given the range, Hess simply put his bayonet through her chest and slashed outward, what would be an easily fatal blow in combat. With that done, he turned his focus left down the hallway, and two target arms came down from the ceiling — the nearer one was a guy with a tablet computer, the far one was a guy with a shotgun. Hess shot past the guy with the tablet and bagged the shotgun easily — three rounds on the forehead and nose.

Here, Erich paused for a moment to consider the physical layout of the building. the rooms on the right side were all exterior wall rooms, forward and left went deeper into the shoot house. Clearing from the outside in tended to minimize exposure, so his next stop was a locked bedroom. The Kentuckian allowed his AR-15 to hang on the three-point sling, then pulled the Remington 870 Express Magnum that Amy had returned to him the day prior. The shotgun resided in a scabbard attached to his vest, just over his right shoulder, which allowed him to carry the otherwise range-limited weapon and still have one (or two) rifles as his primary. He jacked a simulated shell into the chamber, placed the muzzle up against the wood of the doorframe, and fired. One shot, no more doorhandle on this door, which he then booted open and cleared to the side to prevent an easy shot against himself. With no shot or simulator of a shot, the Kentuckian entered the room and engaged the one pop-up in the room, a guy in a ski mask and carrying a rifle. Further inspection of the room held nothing of importance, so he departed.

As soon as Sigma One exited the room, he immediately caught sight of movement to his right. The shotgun came up and centered on — "OH SHIT!" Hess shouted as he immediately twisted and cleared the weapon away from his inadvertent target, a real person.

"Whoa! Don't shoot! Surrender!" Asako shouted, her hands immediately skyward.

"Sweet Jesus, Asako! That almost ended very badly! You should have shouted something before you approached!"

"Oops," she said, shocked.

"Okay, wow, that was a complete kill-joy," Erich said as he leaned back against the wall. "System, halt simulation," Hess said into a control module he was carrying along for the holosim field.

"Simulation halted," the computer responded through speakers in the walls..

"What is this place? Training house?" Asako asked, looking at the unusual targets.

"Shoot house," Hess put the proper name to it. "Used as training for live-fire exercises, how to recognize threats and non-threats. This is old tech, though, because the holosim field can do 100 percent realistic."

"Why not do that?" she asked after she leaned up against the wall across the hall from Hess.

"I am sharpening skills. Not ready for the full-up game," he explained. "Why are you out here?"

"I wanted to ask you something," Asako said. She looked into the room Hess just cleared, then grabbed his sleeve and pulled him inside. "Grab a seat."

Hess sat down on a stack of tires that were substituting for a random object in the randomized room. Asako sat down on the target box of the tango that Hess had given a chest-level blast of 00 buckshot. "Okay, what's the subject of the hour?"

"You want the train engines for the bases?" She asked.

"I have use for them, yes," Erich admitted.

"I will clear the trains for you. Your man can scrap out the engines after that, then we break down the cars and leftovers for selling on ScrapNet." She looked askance at Hess. "Why you look at me funny? I did not make joke. If you did it, so can I."

"Not doubting you can do it, Asako," the Kentuckian said. "If you do this, you will need to take days to clear the trains, and you will need to strip everything out for processing in, and you will need to either evacuate, evict, or eliminate anyone in the train."

"Understood. It will be done. Need more men to join me, since you are now leader of Sigma, you're not going to be doing this," she thought.

"I will find you volunteers," Hess said. "Also, I may be clearing trains with you, or next to you, just the same. What I ask of others, I will be doing so as well."

"Sir!" She half-barked in response.

"If a leader cannot do the tasks he requests of his subordinates, his command may be called into question. I started this project, I will work to its completion."

"Stubborn and crazy," Asako groused.

"Aye, stubborn, crazy instructor. Did you bring your AK-101 with you?" Hess asked.

"Yes?" She answered by way of a question on why.

"Get it. If you will be clearing trains, I will teach you how to properly clear rooms, train cars, and anything else needed."

-x-x-x-

(Year SLR-9063, March 26, 0640 Local)  
(Day 6 of Campaign)  
(Personal quarters of Sigma One, Base Erlanger, Terra 232)

"51...52...53...54...and my arm gives out," Hess grumped before he slammed face-first into the padding below him. "Damn left shoulder again," he groused to himself. "I'm only thirty, I can still recover this shit."

A bare moment after Hess stood up to flex his shoulders and back, he was startled by the most god-awful alert siren he had ever heard (3). When he looked to the main viewscreen of his entertainment center, it was reporting 'Perimeter assault, east side', which meant someone was trying to breach the walls at or near the temporary housing of the civilian groups.

Hess ran over to the wall hooks outside the bathroom where he kept his combat vest, pistol belt and shoulder harness, and the AR-15 carbine. A bare twenty seconds and he was suited up with all his combat gear. Ten seconds past that, he was out the door and into the hall, headed for the stairs down to the security center. The run down the stairs took another 40 seconds, and then twenty seconds charge to the command post.

"What do we have?" Hess asked immediately after he entered.

"Alpha Mafia attack force, eastern side, roughly parallel with the guard tower."

"Martin?" Hess asked after a moment.

"Martin's alive, but he's pinned down," Captain Foley said.

"Get the paras out there, Captain Foley. The walls have a recessed infantry fighting position on the top edge, engage them from there. I'll coordinate from here."

"On it, sir!" Captain Foley grabbed up his Thompson and magazine pouch, then turned out the door in a hurry.

Hess moved to the front and grabbed his set of control gauntlets. When they were on and active, he started by activating every available security camera on the eastern wall to begin understanding the situation. "Jesus, that's over thirty of the bastards, and they don't look too happy."

"They're attacking the eastern gate," Tyee noted. "They don't have any assets that could damage… what the hell? Elemental armor?"

"Oh shit," Hess said. "Yeah, Elemental armor all right. If that thing has jump jet fuel, it can just jump over the walls and get inside."

"I'll deal with those, sir," Tyee groused.

"With what? I know you think that ten foot dick of yours is lethal, but not against that," Hess asked with significant sarcasm.

"Lady Cyrene is not the only person with wizardry skills in the command, big guy," Tyee said with a smile. "And you've undershot my sword length."

"Are you sure you can take that thing?" Hess asked.

"No, but I can try," Tyee said.

"Go, then, and watch yo—"

" — Stop!" Cyrene ordered, which interrupted Hess midsentence. "We have a better option. If we keep the amount and power of magic users in our group concealed, that gives us options another day. Savvy?"

"Loud and clear, Executor," Hess answered. "What is the plan bravo?"

"Perimeter turret, eastern wall," Cyrene said. "I checked them out yesterday, all three base turrets are active. They are controlled from here."

"Ah," Erich smiled heartily. "System, perimeter defense turret control, slave eastern wall center turret to control gloves."

"Eastern Wall center turret active and unlocked," the 'Betty' voice declared after a few moments.

"System, display targeting information on main monitor, eastern center wall turret," Hess ordered. After two seconds, the main composite of the attack group was replaced by a slightly degraded targeting system view from the turret assembly.

It took Hess a few seconds to test the control schema with the gloves, but he did get it figured out quickly enough. Rolling his wrist left or right turned the turret left or right, pitching his wrist down dropped the elevation, pitching it up raised the elevation. After that quick learning session, he had no problem sloughing the turret down into the proper firing angle.

The weapons were a bit easier to understand. The Calliope IIM turret had seven weapon system installed: two Clan-pattern LRM 15s, two Magi-pattern standard AC/5s, and three Extended Range Large Pulse Lasers. Each weapon corresponded to a lit button on the back of his gauntlet. Though designed specifically for trashing medium 'mechs in a one-on-one engagement, and larger battlemechs in groups, the Calliope IIM also had plenty of fight for use on infantry — this manner of battle would make perfect sense for the mixed weapons arrays on the turrets.

"Whoa, shit, there's four battle armor troops down in that." Hess paused to examine one of them. "Don't recognize that unit."

"It's old, I think it is Davion maybe?" Cyrene guessed correctly.

"Ah, well, still a threat," Hess groused. He sighed up the Elemental with the standard small laser, made sure the sights were on, and cut loose with both AC/5 cannons. The damage caused was enough to drop the Elemental right where it stood, mainly because the armor looked like it has been damaged in prior battles and not properly repaired.

"Got one! Damn good shooting, boss!" Tyee said.

A SRM pair streaked toward the viewpoint; one missile went over, the other slammed into the turret. Some other persons turned their guns on the turret as well, but small arms were a pale threat to a large, armored defensive turret system. "Looks like they know it's there, now," Cyrene said.

"And looks like the distraction is just what Martin ordered," Hess countered when a man with a large sniper rifle took a shot to the top of the head and went down hard.

"Autocannons are up again, sir," Tyee said.

"Hell with the autocannons, shells cost money. Photons do not," Hess oversimplified the matter. He put the sights on the other Elemental and ripped off two of the turret's three ER Large Pulse Lasers. One hit, one miss, and most of the cooked Elemental in question began running away from the battlefield, the trooper exposed to open air and badly burned by hot slag from the armor. Erich moved the crosshairs to the unidentified Davion armor, sighted it up, and dropped the third laser. A direct hit ended that trooper's attempt to use his machine gun to suppress the tower.

From the ramparts at the top of the perimeter wall, one of the troopers fired two shots over the bulwark and down into the enemy below. One shot missed, the other clipped a guy in the shoulder and put him on the ground. The next guy on the wall Hess did recognize — Captain Foley — who dropped a good rip of Thompson into the mafiosi below. His burst of roughly half a magazine netted two torso hits among the closer-to-40 tangos trying to breach the walls. Their actions were not without impunity, though; Private Jones took a .44 magnum slug in the left forearm from the ground, which caused him to drop his rifle over the edge and put him out of the fight.

"Come to papa, scumbag, come to papa," Hess said as he tracked in on the last battle armor trooper down below. A little work dialing it in, and he loosed two lasers into it — both hit, leaving not much of the armor left to talk about. With the attacking armors downed, he turned the turret's focus to the retreating Elemental, where a single burst of AC/5 finished that job properly and depleted them of their hard assets.

Private Martin took the distraction of the turret firing to allow him to drop his hammer on some unsuspecting tangos. Four rounds, four dead guys, and he pulled back to reload while Private Jones stepped forward again with his 1911, single-hand firing down into the crowd. At his range, though, he had no such luck on hits. Captain Foley picked up where Jones left off, the remainder of his Thompson magazine did better in that he was able to drop one guy with the remainder of his initial magazine.

"Hot damn! They're running!" Sergeant Moody shouted loud enough to be heard by the external microphones on the turret.

"Command, Foley, enemy assault is broken. They are running for the hills. Do you want us to pursue?"

Hess clocked in his radio headphone. "Negative, Captain, bring in your troops. I'll continue to harass them until they are out of sight in the forest."

"You haven't used the LRMs on the turret yet, sir," Tyee pointed out.

Hess put the targeting location for his LRMs into area saturation attack mode, put the aimpoint slightly ahead of the middle of the enemy attack group, and loosed both LRM 15 packs. Of the two salvos, 14 missiles landed in the vicinity of the enemy and dropped them hard, leaving a bare handful of runners headed into the trees. "And the rest?" Cyrene asked after Hess did no more fire commands for a minute.

"Let 'em run. They can tell their buddies how badly screwed they are if they try attacking this base." Erich stripped the gloves off and sighed mightily. "That was some serious 'check your underwear' action, ladies and gentlemen. If one of those powered armor troops had entered the base proper, it would have been exceedingly bloody."

"No shit, sir. Damn good thing Cyrene reminded us we're in a fortified and defended base," Tyee said.

The radios chirped. "Cyrene, Foley, we have wounded on the wall. We're bringing him to the infirmary now, can you meet us there?"

Lady Curone picked up her radio handset. "Foley, I'll be waiting for your man." She loosed the handset. "Hess, don't have the bodies disposed of yet. I have a method for clearing them that is both an ultimate insult to the enemy and helps us."

"Understood," Hess said. "Alexander, form up a crew, take one of the deuce-and-a-half trucks, collect the weapons and other salvageable gear, and bring it back for inprocessing into our ScrapNet account. Bodies are to remain left there; do not dig them graves."

"Gladly, sir," Alexander said with a quizzical look to Cyrene.

"Tyee, head out with Alexander. Make sure you keep an eye out to the west, in case those assholes come back for a second round."

"On it, sir." Tyee left out the security center doors shortly after Alexander.

Hess deliberately turned off his radio before he next spoke. "You're planning something, and going by the catch in your voice, someone somewhere thinks it is improper conduct."

The Executor sighed briefly. "Under normal circumstances, what I am about to do is considered a dishonorable action, but given the present state of this planet, you're looking at either millions of graves or the plan bravo."

"I am listening," Hess answered after a moment.

"There is a series of spells, when used on the deceased, be they animal or human or nonhuman, that eliminates their bodies in a spatial distortion circle. What is left after the body is eliminated is a conversion of the deceased soul object of the spell target to some kind of material — usually clothing or magical charms of one kind or another, but some people with unusual personae have been known to be reformed into jewels or such."

"That is… damn," Hess said. "I can see why it could be considered a dishonor. Messing with the dead is a general step in the wrong direction. Still, is there a law against it? Treaty or otherwise?"

"No, it is the common ritual of the deceased amongst the New Moon Empire," Cyrene said. "They reserve burial only to their most exalted."

Hess considered his position for nearly a minute. The decision was a tough one, but in this case the outcome was driven by personnel. "I am not going to spare the manpower to bury every swinging dick we have to drop in defense actions. If they are killed attacking Sigma territory or citizens, we create a small monument to them and use that disposal spell."

"We can have monuments custom-built and engraved for just such a happenstance," Cyrene noted. "I will get on it."

-x-x-x-

(Year SLR-9063, March 27, 1800 Local)  
(Day 7 of Campaign)  
(Parade Grounds, Base Erlanger, Terra 232)

"Some of them are rather young," Hess said.

"These problems know no age," Cyrene pointed out fairly.

"I am hoping they know what they are getting into," Erich continued as he walked past the group, toward the review stage.

"If they don't, they will know shortly," Cyrene consoled him.

"We will need drill instructors. Several," Hess decided.

"Already have some word out to a few old friends. They're up to the challenge."

"Excellent." Hess mounted the stage at a brisk clip and immediately moved to the front of it. After a full day of making noise about needing volunteers, and especially after the morning battle outside the walls the day prior, the highly diverse crowd in front of him was what he now had to work with. Now it was time to make sure they knew what they were about to get into.

"We stand with you, sir!" Someone in the crowd shouted as Hess approached the rail of the review stage.

"Hell yes sir!" A lady in the front row shouted. With her, the crowd lapsed into cheering that Hess didn't expect, but wasn't unwelcome to the planetary administrator-to-be. He didn't take it personally; it was more an issue about who was ready to do what needed to be done, and Hess heard the voices of over a hundred ready to make the leap of faith.

The Kentuckian raised his hands for silence, which took several seconds for the group to accomplish. "Ladies and gentlemen, I welcome you all to Sigma Holdings." This time was less unrestrained cheering, more clapping that died of its own volition quickly enough. "I will start this introduction by saying that we are effectively at war," Hess continued, which brought even the meager whispering to an end. "Sigma is at war with the planet we stand on, we are at war with the Jumper Trains, and after a fashion we are at war with the Slavers' Guild. That said, our enemies do not know we are at war with them. Our enemies are uncoordinated in two cases, and the third case, they have no concrete knowledge of our existence. We are at war, but the war officially has not begun; we have time to prepare ourselves, and we shall need it."

"We stand ready, sir!" An elder guy shouted.

"There is more to this issue than simply readiness," Hess half-shouted out to the crowd. "Today, you are ready. This is good. Tomorrow is a different battlefield, different enemies, and different requirements. We must all be ready for those battlefields. We must outwit, we must outfight, and we must outlast our enemies. That means we must be the best of the best in our fields."

Hess looked around the crowd, and so far nobody was making noise or trying to depart. "This is where we shall excel against all opposition. We are dedicated to our freedoms, but we are also flexible enough to know how to train and conduct battle. The lands outside this base are largely untrained mobs, blasting each other apart while uninvolved citizens suffer for it. We shall train, and train hard, to fight properly, and to win superior victories."

Again a cheer rose from the crowd, but silenced quickly. "Sigma Holdings has five missions right now. We fight to clear the planet and provide a decent life to the citizens of this world. We fight to eliminate the Jumper Trains from Existence once and for all, to prevent their denizens from taking slaves on random, uninvolved dimensions, and to free the more permanent residents from their prisons on rails. For those of you who are truly hardened, you can train to combat the Slavers, wherever they are found, in whatever order they are found. Some among you are not geared toward combat purpose; for ye, we have noncombat, commercial, and industrial positions we need filled. Lastly, for those among you who are willing to take the ultimate risks, and seek the ultimate rewards, I seek volunteers to serve as interdimensional mercenaries in non-Mobile-Army capacities."

The crowd grew strangely silent at Hess' last declaration. He was expecting this, for just exactly the reason that the term 'interdimensional mercenary' usually referred to Mobile Army forces of one bent or another. "Look to your right!" Hess indicated an excavator that was digging out a hole for the Gate Engines. "That hole will soon be filled with the engines of the Jumper Trains, and a specialist will reprogram those engines to move people through time and space to where we need them. Millions of contracts go unanswered in a month, below the dignity and finance of the great interdimensional mercenary units. They cannot spend the manpower and transport costs to take on such small jobs. We will have no effective transport cost when the engines are online. We have manpower of such wildly varying capabilities and motivations that we can make it work."

A crowd looked back from the hole to Hess. The Kentuckian decided some grandstanding was in order, so his arms shot out to both sides. "Look around you! A world needs protection from gangs and tyrants, but this worlds needs more. The fledgling economy here needs influx of resources and money to begin moving. We can drive our own economic matters, but only to a certain extent before that grinds to a halt. We can provide foreign trade, and we shall, but there are markets for trade-based economics that are untapped; the small-contract mercenary market is massive with demand, but has few or no practitioners. If you want to see growth, exporting raw whoopass in trade for foreign resources will make growth for everyone."

The crowd stood silent for a moment, as Hess gauged their temperament while they decided if they liked the plan. "We still stand with you, sir!" an older lady in the crowd shouted at the stage.

"Your postings are always voluntary. You can come and go as you please, once the training is done. If you do not want to work a certain segment, we can arrange that, if you have certain training and employment wishes, we can get you on that path. Those of you who are willing to put it on the line for Sigma Holdings, step forward to the recruiting tables here and sign in for your training."

Surprisingly, nobody in the crowd left. Hess heard the word 'mercenary' bandied about frequently, which was either good news or bad news. He would know soon enough.

-x-x-x-

(Year SLR-9063, March 28, 0805 Local)  
(Day 8 of Campaign)  
(Hangar 113, Aerospace Facilities, Base Erlanger, Terra 232)

"Ladies and gentleman, thank you for joining me in this forsaken corner of the base on such short notice," Sigma One said heartily. There were three ladies and one guy present, two new recruits, two veteran hands (counting Jeff and his unexpected girlfriend Cynthia as older hands). Jeff was the only guy present other than Sigma One. "All of you heard my speech yesterday, and all of you heard me effectively denigrate the Mobile Forces as a path to prosperity. This was deliberate on my part, but far from absolute."

"Why did you say that, sir? Makes no sense, the Great Houses rely on Battlemechs to do their bidding, and the Star Empires all have blended Mobile Forces," Recruit Ona asked.

"As I said, it was not an absolute position, but by the numbers, give me ten thousand well-trained and well-equipped men, a good terrain to fight on, and I shall give you two dead armor regiments on easy." He started pacing; Jeffrey could easily recognize it as a bit of a contemplative or nervous habit of their new CO. "Simply stated, one of the happiest illusions in Existence is the supremacy of the Mobile Army unit, be it tanks, Mobile Suits, Gundams, Battlemechs, Omnimechs, Protomechs, what have you. Search long and hard enough, you will find all manner of talking heads willing to say that you can do it all with 'mechs, or a small modicum of supplementary forces. The world I came from would beg to differ."

"So, then, what are you going to do?" Ona pressed.

"Infantry is the backbone of a proper military. Mercenary units get by with mobile forces primarily because they float from job to job, and are used primarily as anti-armor shock forces. Our purpose is to break that paradigm, and break it good. We will field infantry as our primary, but we will field it smartly; we will also use artillery, air, ground armor, Mobile Forces when proper, naval, and magical forces in profusion. In effect, we shall throw at the enemy the kitchen sink, and then we throw the wrench used to remove the kitchen sink at them as well."

Hess paced wide, which brought Jeff's attention to some kind of shadowy form behind him in the darked-out hangar. In the dark, he could only see part of an outline, nothing enough to tell details.

"Our first and loudest problem in the beginning is going to be busting armor. We can get Infantry easily, a combination of our own superior infantry and artillery will do that job handily. We can do pre-WW2 cavalry just as easily, since a cavalry troop is simply fast-moving infantry stupid enough to skylight themselves on a horse. Enemy armor is going to be the problem from WW1 on, and a lot of contracts will have hardened targets to deal with. On that, I give you fellows your inherent strength, for Armor has a natural predator, and its home is just above the treetops."

"Attack helicopters," Jeff said almost breathlessly, since he could easily recognize the metaphor. "Oh, please, tell me we're going to be driving Apache Longbows!"

"I figured you'd make that jump quickly enough, but no, the answer to your question is negative." Jeff deflated after a moment. "Technically, the Apache 64-D / Longbow Variant is outdated amongst the Star Empires, and though a very solid anti-armor platform, why would I go out of my way to purchase an outdated airframe for 6 million C-bills, when I can get a much-improved airframe for 4.6 million C-bills, better armaments, better armor plating, better carry capacity, and a fusion engine?" Hess clicked a button on his gear vest, which caused the hangar lights to pop on and illuminate the objects inside.

Two objects, specifically. Two clear descendants of the AH-64D Apache.

"These are the AH-364A Apache IIM Revision 3 platforms. 30 tons standard load, 36 tons max takeoff weight, 160-rated extralight fusion engine, 5.1 tons of Heavy Ferro Fibrous armor that gives it immunity to fire from tank guns, at least briefly. Fixed armaments are in the chin turret, two Optifree ER Medium Lasers with a maximum effective range of 1500 meters, and two new Antipersonnel Gauss Rifles with a max range of 900 meters. Sensors consist of the FLIR pod and designator, the mast-mounted Bloodhound probe, and internal radar systems with a maximum 90 kilometers range. 12 tons external stores maximum, which is 48 Hellfire ATGMs or various other weapon systems as desired."

"Holy crap, Jeff, is that a woodie?" Cynthia asked her effective boyfriend.

"I would expect no less," Hess answered for Jeff, though was not looking in that direction. "You asked about the old AH-64D, Jeff? I give you the great-granddaughter of the Apache, and it is just as fierce as the original with three times the lethality and far more survivability."

"But...why this?" Ona asked. "Why so sudden?"

"Because, right now we have a critical vulnerability. We have a force in training, and a force on paper; we lack defensive acumen. Frankly stated, a class of sixth-graders armed with sharpened popsicle sticks would be an existential threat to the Protectorate. Anything more serious than that, we have problems."

Hess turned away from the hardware and back to the crews. "In front of me, I see two aircrews in potentia. Jeff is only about six flying hours short of his Helo certification on his homeworld. Ona, you already have a flight cert at the age of 14, justification in the Magi's training and education standards. Cynthia, given you enjoy hanging around Jeff so much, I figured I would offer you a good opportunity to learn the business end of the helos, as a gunner. Miyuki, you signed up for the Helicopter trade, here is your chance to learn it from Ona."

"How soon?" Jeff asked.

"You will have several days to bone up on procedures and the actual airframe. I am working on pulling in some A&P mechanics rated for maintenance of the AH-364A, but since this is a relatively new airframe, mechanics are a hard commodity to come by. That said, once I get the personnel in place, and once you are ready for it, I want you in the air twice a day minimum, learning how to yank, bank, and shoot. Fuel is cheap. Ammo is not as cheap, but far cheaper than blood or land. Laser blasting has no effective expense. Make good use of them. I want the area around the base to know that someone is in the area, and in coming weeks we will be moving scouts out to make contact and begin taking the measure of the surrounding lands. You may be called on to defend civilians pretty quickly."

"And the contract work for Sig Mercs?" Miyuki asked. "I did want to get in on that, sir."

Hess smiled somewhat serenely. "I intend to use you two as my personal shotgun for the time being. Point you two in the direction needed, say 'boom', wait for results. That means you will be involved in just about everything — training, defense, offense, contract work, you name it. There will be more to join your ranks, but for now you are the department heavy hitters. Your training regimen is thirty days, since you are both effectively flight-rated, all you need is type training, tactics and employment and gunnery work. After that, the rest is OJT. Do I have your support in this?"

"Yes, sir!" Jeff half-shouted. Ona simply came to attention, which Hess knew was a cultural thing for the Magi.

"Manuals are in the drivers' seats. Might want to start reading up. Also, the manufacturer was kind enough to offer us a simulation program for the METARgraphic fields, so you can use one of the fields to continue training up while your craft are being maintained."

* * *

**Author's Chapter Afterword**:

Probably still sounds a bit too easy to some of you. Even to myself, I'll admit that the dice have played nice so far, but that tends to change on a day-to-day basis.

Of course, even if there isn't a huge problem with barbarians at the gates (yet), the actual problems for Sigma are starting to pile up. First off, there is a bridge loan in effect right now but so far, there is no confirmed income stream for the nation. That will have to change in a hurry if things are going to keep advancing apace; one of the quickest ways to get cut off at the knees by the Magi is to dishonor a debt. So, Hess is either going to have to show some form of advancement, or some form of critical problem in progress, to keep things afloat. On the other hand, he has a month to do so, thus not all hope is lost.

Second, and this has not been touched on in this chapter but will make a very prominent showing next chapter, Sigma is about to start suffering a major refugee problem. As in, the national population of the Protectorate will double in a week, problem. On the face of it, this does not sound like a huge issue, except for the logistics of it. On the other hand, when you double the occupancy of a small space, and redouble it, conditions can get out of hand quickly.

Third, and this one is going to come back and bite the Kentuckian square on the arse, is a major racial problem on planet and with the train refugees. And no, Sally, I am not talking about the chicken-shit 'racial problems' that America is suffering, I am talking actual racial issues — as in Human versus Nonhuman. As in, effective racial genocide in ungoverned areas. As in, humans trying to 'purify' an area and setting off a race war between themselves and other parties. That said, don't expect this to be a one-way problem. This board swings both ways, and it will slap both sides in the face with nails and bolts and rivets attached to increase the damage. The first major hurrah of this issue, the second offense, and even a good third shellacking, all will be in the next chapter. No mercy for the wearied, eh?

Now, that said, all good thunderstorms produce a good rain for the local crops, and this thing is no different. The Kentuckian is a greenhorn to the whole 'governance' issue, but Hess is not a dumbass on these issues. Correcting the problems will require unconventional solutions; for a prepper and militiaman, unconventional solutions are a way of life. Solidifying the Sigma power-base and moving forward with operational plans (clearing trains, clearing planet, working contracts) are technical issues that have finite requirements and available solutions; for a technician, the question becomes how to apply the necessary solution and when to do so. It helps that Hess is a speculative fiction buff of many formats, and has a wide array of possible inspirations to build fixes from. It also helps that the Kentuckian is by nature an unconventional solution guy, and is willing to put those options out there to do the job.

Now that the general angsting is done, time to cover a technical issue. **Necroblade** pointed out that a consideration about the Gate Engines on the trains, and how it gave the appearance that nobody else was using them (or similar) to move forces or materials around. This both is and is not true. It is true, in that no other mercenary unit does this, or uses similar technologic gate systems, mainly because Jumpships are more readily available and there is no overarching threat from the Star League to consider when trying to rip off the Trains for their engines. Also, this is not in common use amongst the Star Empires mainly because the various Empires have their own cadre of Gate Mages or similar to move stuff around. The Star League and the Dynasty use some Gate Runes to move forces between predetermined locations, but these are more rare by far.

Hess gets away with Shanghaiing the Gate Engines mainly because he has been effectively mandated by Master Executor Hotaru Tomoe to decommission the trains permanently and render them inoperable. It's a bit of a different oplan when the Executors are covering your arse from 'high-level reprisal' for more than one reason, but you can bet your bottom C-bill that when Sigma starts making noise with these engines, other Merc outfits will go out of their way to copycat the technology or just outright steal some of the engines. Sometimes, 'mercenary' and 'pirate' are not that far off in absolute terms of definition…

Now that's all she wrote for the day. **NEXT UP**: Things begin moving at an accelerating pace around Base Erlanger, and that may NOT be a good thing for the harried Sigma One.

* * *

**Review Replies**: Four reviews for the second chapter! MUCH THANK YOU!

c0dy88: The dice have come up good for a few days, but that will change. I've already written about half of the next chapter, and the shit is starting to hit the fan already. It's gonna take someone with very unconventional thinking to get out of this mess...

Drakensis: Aye, I knew you were referring to the trains as 2D constructs :) Now that we are in a permanent location, things need to begin expanding...

HolyDragoon: Actually, when the Magi set up a protectorate, they are mostly hands-off unless the protection terms require it. In this case, they are sort of the 'guarantors' of the Sigma Protectorate, willing to help with finance, access to resources, and definitely to prove ass coverage against the jackals in the Star League. The actual control and normalization of the planet falls to Hess and his merry band of crazies.

Thanks for the info on the 'Raptor' rifle!

KleverKilva: Actually, the fiction amongst the Star Empires is stranger than ours by a long shot, but fiction crossing bounds is not unheard of in my settings. Not all worlds will dream up Battletech, but then again, not all worlds need to dream that cluster up, ne?

THANK YOU ALL FOR THE REVIEWS! The hotter the reviews, the faster I do strange sj1t! You know you want to do something about it, and so do I! :)

* * *

**The Gripe Sheet**:

No gripes, just one detail issue pointed out by **HolyDragoon**. Thanks! And as always, much apropos to **Necroblade**, **Takeshi Yamato**, and **Sieben Nightwing** for the beta work!

* * *

**Footnotes**:

(1): **Headchopping** in this case refers to one of the more common failure points of portal-style teleportations of fiction - namely the portal only teleporting part of a person or object, and leaving vital bits behind. This can happen with just about any size object, and is not limited to people. One example that's rather famous in the Gaming world is the fate of the UNSC _Forward Unto Dawn_ in Halo 3 - the ship was only halfway through the portal before said portal collapsed, which sheared the ship in two, leaving the Master Chief and Cortana stranded a long way from home. (SVG NOTE: This briefing is courtesy of **Takeshi Yamato**. Thanks!)

(2): **M**aterial-**E**nergy **T**ransitional **A**daptive **R**ebuild Holo**graphic** systems. Using a combination of nanotechnology, high-energy encapsulation and transmission, and holographic projection systems, these holographic fields allow for any manner of simulation to be entered into the material matrix and executed for full physical and visual realism. These can be as basic as a simple holographic full-realism shooting range, to a completely lifelike training simulation of a hostage crisis in an office building, and any combination in between. The only effective limitation is the footprint of the training field; vertical scalability is easily applicable up to 10 times the horizontal scalability.

(3): Run a YouTube search for the following: Half Life 2 Episode 2 Base Alarm. That is the alarm used by the Star League facilities for general combat alerts.

* * *

**Crossover Elements (Running total for story)**:

IRL Weapons  
IRL Tactics

Personal Works: The Star League of House Serenity  
Personal Works: The Multimage Star Empire  
Personal Works: Gerald Lightbringer is more notable in the Jokers Wild series of stories, but he's been around the block a few times…

Battletech: Kanazuchi Assault Armor  
Battletech: Interstellar mercenaries get an upgrade in this story to interdimensional.  
Battletech: The Apache IIM R3 (AH-364A) is a custom Battletech-legal unit, though only of limited utility unless you allow external stores on Helos.

Command And Conquer: Sancia still has that GDI assault rifle. Thanks to HolyDragoon for pointing out the official name!

Final Fantasy Tactics: The Hokuten and Nanten get honorable mention in this chapter, but you can probably guess Sigma is going to be 'ionterfering' in the War of the Lions soon enough...


	4. Local Entanglements

(Sigma Mercenaries Chronicles, story 0001: Initial Public Offering)  
(Chapter 04: Local Entanglements)

(Year SLR-9063, March 30, 1230 Local)  
(Day 10 of campaign)  
(Western Gate, Base Erlanger, Terra 232)

"Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to be free, the wretched refuse of your teeming shore," Hess recited most of the quote from memory.

"Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed, to me; I lift my lamp beside the golden door," Sergeant Moody finished the rest from memory.

"Do we have the rest of the barracks buildings cleared?" Erich asked after another twenty or so traipsed through the small vehicles entryway.

"Yeah, Sancia had some more of the Charlies finish up cleanup and preparation. We're ready to absorb whatever the countryside throws at us… for now," Captain Foley said heartily.

Hess, Moody, and Foley stood silently and watched, looking for any telltales of former gang or mafiosi affiliation. In this group, there were none; in yesterday's group, a Bravo Mafia cell had spirited their way in but were decidedly not causing trouble. "Why?" Sergeant Moody asked after a moment.

"Good question." Hess looked among the recent passers-by, and decided a question was in order. "You, teenage lady, come here," and Hess pointed to a lady with blue hair. After a moment of hesitation, she approached the three officers. "Speak English?"

"Better than you do," she replied after a moment, though her expression told that she regretted the flippant remark quickly enough. "Sorry."

"Apologize when you do something wrong, not when you are correct," Hess rebuked her softly. He waved a finger at the passing throng of civilians. "Why are they on the move?"

"The Mafia are on the move up north," the lady answered. "They're fighting over good cropland now. They displace us to get to it, those they don't outright kill."

"Do they actually tend the fields, or is it just a matter of primacy of place?" Sergeant Moody asked.

"Both," the girl asked. "Not that it matters to us. We are displaced off one plot, move to the next, displaced again. Wish we could just live in one place."

"What do you need to live in one place?" Erich asked after a moment considering it.

"Security. Water or a river. Land to farm. We can take care of the rest," she said. "You're… not offering, are you?"

"Actually, I am," Hess said. "I will get you farmland. I will set up security. We can even discuss permanent housing for your group. In exchange, are you willing to accept a new command authority over your area?"

"Whose? The Star League does not give up territory," the teen lady said warily.

"The Star League does what the Executors tell them they must do, and an Executor has declared this planet in default. The Multimages formed up a Protectorate on this planet, and I am the Coordinator of the Protectorate. Follow?"

"I do, sir," she answered. "What is your price?"

"I have no price," Erich answered. "Just that, in these lands, the law is respected and people pull their own weight whence established. Nothing more, nothing less."

The teen lady blinked; Hess could guess she was shocked. "You're not… You're something else, not Star League, not Magi. What?"

"American, all three of us," Captain Foley answered for the boss.

"Americans?" she asked redundantly. "The laziest, most useless 'free' nation of the 21st Terran century, and the Executors have you running the planet? We're all going to die."

"Such sterling faith, eh?" Foley asked Hess.

"Yeah, not like some of us aren't capping fascists or are militia personnel, eh?" Erich asked in counter.

"Oh," the teen groused. Their back-end banter made it clear that they were not part of the 'dark history to come' of the United States. "Sorry."

"I'm guessing you know a history that we do not, or are fighting to avoid," Hess replied to her apology. "I won't ask for loyalty, faith, trust, anything of that nature. I ask only time, and a willingness to pull yourselves up to self-sustaining. You get that far, and I shall ensure your security to the best of the Protectorate's ability."

"I'd do it anyway," she said without reserve. "Thanks, mister!"

"What are we thinking? Three hundred in this group?" Sergeant Moody asked.

"And we just did an extra 200 plus a couple days ago," Captain Foley commented.

"Sounds like things are heating up out in the hinterlands," Erich acknowledged. "We can expect more."

"Do we have the resources to cover for it?" Sergeant Moody asked. "I mean, you did take out that loan, but…"

"Yeah, but," Hess picked up where the NCO dropped off. "On the other hand, I planned for at least an initial refugee surge, once it became known we were here in base. Sounds like the word is now circulating."

"You are thinking something," Captain Foley prompted him after a few moments of silence.

"Damn straight I am, Captain," Erich said. "I lift my lamp beside the golden door. In this case, the door has the greek letter Sigma on it, and on the far side, opportunities for growth. We play this right, we are looking at the core of a new life for these folks."

"Liberate Europe, liberate a whole planet, all the same to me," Sergeant Moody said. "Just so long as you don't have me out in winter conditions without cold weather gear, I'll do it with a smile on my face."

The Kentuckian smiled, given his line to CC Lightbringer was rapidly becoming famous among the unit.

-x-x-x-

(Year SLR-9063, April 2, 0330 Local)  
(Day 13 of campaign)  
(Railhead Undercroft, Base Erlanger, Terra 232)

One of the interesting considerations that Hess had stumbled upon during the paperwork process of the Protectorate setup was the size of the Protectorate — Unless artificially limited due to some factor, the default option was Star Empire (small) Protectorate, ergo more than one planet would fall under Sigma's control. As Hess considered it a perfectly viable option to not only clean up Terra 232, but to expropriate other territories or planets as determined to be in default by the Star League Executors. The initial request was only for this planet, but Hess figured he would probably be called upon to do more, in due time, provided he didn't wank this first planet.

The other consideration was how selecting that one simple option — the size of the Empire — could make a massive difference in financing options. As a Small Star Empire Protectorate, Hess had no real problem securing a significant line of credit — in all reality, he would need it for the initial preparations, but not to the degree that he was being offered a line of credit. More disturbing of the policy in question was the minimum credit line requirement at this level. For the size of his Empire-to-be, Hess could not take a bridge loan out below 1 billion C-bills. Star Empires usually ran loan transactions in hundreds of billions of C-bills, which meant the major credit institutions were not set up for smaller sums properly. Or, in such cases, they tended to levy fees against those smaller sums that made the larger loans more attractive.

On the other hand, that credit made the plans Hess had derived possible, and made a certain common goal between himself and a Japanese college student easily workable. Couple hundred thousand in gear, a flat contracting fee, and the necessary equipment was in place to entrap the Trains.

"This is it?" Asako asked after a moment. "Thought would be more substantial."

"Doesn't have to be," the Engineer that set up the system answered heartily. "I only needed four sets of rails to make it work, and you provided that. The rest is just a 'drop beacon' that the trains will peg to and land here, where the Train Beacon wants them to land. Once it lands, you secure the loco, turn off the beacon, and jump it over to the service area." The engineer waved at the other lines. "You are recommissioning them?" The Special Beacons Engineer asked, looking at a Jump Engineer who was working on one of the engines.

"Decommissioning and scrapping them," Asako said.

"Isn't that illegal? The Star League considers these trains 'protected heritage'."

"Orders from an Executor," Asako answered. "The existence of these Trains have become a critical threat to neutral parties through random drops, slavery actions, and general unsavory occupation, so quote Cyrene the White," Operations Officer (Rail Guard) Asako said. "You need documentation?"

"No, not necessary," the Beacon Engineer noted. He figured if the lady was blowing it out her arse, the Executors would deal with her soon enough. If she was correct, it would be the SL General Council that would be evacuating it through their colon, likely in brick-shaped format no less. "Should be ready to go now. Since the trains all pass through this planet at one time or another, it is an old default stop for the new engine programming, you should have no problems getting them all… eventually."

"Have an entire lifetime for it," Asako said with a smile. "How do we test?"

"We have it turned on, I get in my six-car wonder, and make it jump. If the beacon works properly, it will guide my train to the first open rail set."

"Get moving," Asako indicated his train before she reached for her headset. "Control, Asako, verify connection to Train Beacon," she requested.

"Connection is valid," the duty officer said.

"Activate beacon," she ordered just as the Beacon Engineer arrived at his mini-train. After a few moments, the engine on the machine spun up to full noise, then the gate halo formed and displaced the train. True to the purpose of the Train Beacon, the mini-train landed on the first set of rails connected to the diverter, meaning that it was working as intended. "Command, Asako, reporting good test. Please deacti—" She was cut off midsentence by the landing rattle of a second train, this one with two engines visible and eight cars behind it. "Oh shit! Command, Train arrival in the undercroft! Repeat, train arrival in the undercroft! Summon the boss!"

After a moment of eerie silence, the base alarms activated. "Attention all hands, attention all hands, unidentified Jumper Train has landed in the undercroft, Train Beacon Rail 2. Repeat, unidentified train has landed, train beacon second rail!"

"Attention Paratrooper team, all personnel except Private Martin are to muster at the Train Beacon Railhead in full arms. Repeat, all paratroopers except Private Martin, muster at the Train Beacon railhead in ten minutes with full arms!" Sigma One ordered in the silence thereafter.

"Well, we know it worked," the Beacon Engineer said with some trepidation.

Hess was the first arrival on scene, equipped in his signature tactical gear and his AR-15 Carbine, but not the Enfield rifle that the Kentuckian was somewhat famous for. "Hooked a live one during field testing?" Hess asked as he approached.

"That we did," the contractor Train Beacon Engineer said. "Now what? Turn it off and wait for it to leave?"

"Hell no, we're commissioned to disable these things." Hess pushed the toggle on his chest to activate his command circuit radio. "Command, Sigma One, disable the Train Beacon."

"Roger that, sir, beacon is off," the operator answered.

"Paras are here," Asako said.

"What do we have… where did we get a third train, sir?" Sergeant Moody asked.

"Our field test of the Train Beacon scored us an extra train. Before we start freaking, though, we planned for this. Enter the train engine, breach, bang, clear, and disable. Once we have positive control of the engines, we move the train to the clearing and disassembly area."

"Understood, sir!" Sergeant Moody said at the same time Captain Foley approached the muster area.

"Bagged a live one, eh?" Foley asked. "My men are ready to enter and clear, sir!

"For now, we just do the engines and move it over to holding. Once Asako's team is ready, she can enter and clear it," Hess outlined the standing plan. "Any questions?"

"No, sir! We're ready!"

"Elder, Mancowitz, you two have point. Let's move it like we've got a purpose!" Captain Foley said.

The two fire-teams formed up, Hess to one team and Asako to the other. They moved past the contractor's train to the front of the first visible train engine, then proceeded up the engineer's stairs onto the causeway around the periphery of the engine.

"Boss, this engine is in the middle of the stack!" Elder shouted.

"Move along the causeway towards the front!" Captain Foley ordered quickly as the amount of personnel on the causeway increased. "The control engine is probably the forward engine. We move!"

"My team, left side!" Sergeant Moody waved his people in that direction, to which Hess followed close.

"How many freaking engines does this train have?" Mancowitz asked after they passed around the side and could see completely down the side of the bank of engines.

"It's a big sucker," Hess said with relish. "The rule of thumb is 5 engines per 200 cars, so, we're looking at a minimum length of 1000 cars, probably more."

"Sweet Jesus, it's gonna take Asako and her team days to clear this one out," Sergeant Moody noted.

"I'd say in the neighborhood of five days, six maybe?" Erich said.

"Boss, signal mirror or light ahead, we're being flashed," Elder shouted from the front of the stack.

"I see it," Hess said. After a moment, he raised his AR-15 Carbine and piped out the morse code for REINFORCEMENTS ON WAY HOLD POSITION, by way of using the tactical light he had installed as a blinker. "Foley, Hess, be advised that I have signaled someone ahead of us, they were using a signal mirror to get our attention. Looks to be ten engines forward or so."

"That would put them at or near the front of the train, Hess," Foley answered. "I'll have Mancowitz play it smart. No sense shooting up someone that might be an ally in the rough."

"Roger that. Move smart and fast, guys, this train ain't going to hang here forever unless we disable it first."

"Step it up, Elder!" Moody ordered.

"Okay, looks like I'm seeing some activity about three engines forward," Foley declared on the radio channel.

"Too close to be the signal I just saw. Watch yourselves!" Hess ordered. "Command, do you have any access to the train control systems?"

"Train Beacon is unable to break the control systems. We have no options, sir, you're going to have to get in there physically."

"Got it," Hess said. "Do you have a read on which engine is the primary?"

"Engine number two is overriding our attempts to take control. Should be the primary."

"LAPD! Hands up!" Someone at the front of the next engine shouted.

"Check fire! We are Americans!" Private Elder shouted. Whether or not the person that shouted was visible or had weapons, he could not tell.

"Americans? Here?" The shouter said. "Whoa — World War II Infantry?"

"And a freaking Mall Ninja bringing up the rear," the taller guy of the two said. Hess caught his nametag as 'Kaye'."Who the hell are you?"

"Ragtag of different groups, came off the train over there," Hess pointed across the undercroft to the train parked in staging for disassembly. "WW2 Paratrooper infantry, early 21st Kentucky Militia, and now we are the Protectorate of this planet," Erich said.

"You saying we're not on Earth or something?" Officer Kaye noted.

"Yes and no. Yes, this planet is still called 'Terra', as in Earth. No, this is definitely not the Earth you left when you got on this train. Welcome to the Protectorate of Sigma."

"Nice," Officer McCabe complained. "How do we get out of here?"

"We'll escort you off when we disable the train," Sergeant Moody said. "Boss, how long has the train been on the ground?"

"Roughly fifteen minutes," Hess answered. "Control engine is number two. We need to break and take control or render inoperable." Hess looked over to SWAT Officer Kaye, who was looking starboard at Foley's team. "You two want to come along, that's on you, but we need to get to that train engine and disable it."

"Go," McCabe said. "I want a full explanation before the end of the day, though."

"You shall have it," Captain Foley said.

"Foley, move out. Second to first engine, breach and clear."

"Yes, sir!" Captain Foley moved his team out ahead of Sergeant Moody.

"Hondo, Kaye, two teams coming your way, Americans, they're here to disable the train," SWAT Officer Deacon Kaye reported.

"74-David, Hondo, got it," Hess could barely hear over the sound of moving boots on the metal catwalks.

"How do you guys plan on getting inside the doors? We tried C2 breaching charges, couldn't get inside," Kaye asked after the team was halfway down the next engine.

"We have breaker boxes we can use to override the security on these trains," Sergeant Moody said as the team paced around the front of another locomotive to take the catwalk bridge to the next engine.

"How — where did you get those?" McCabe asked after a few more paces behind Hess.

"The party that has final say over these trains wants them decommissioned. They also provided the necessary tools to do the job," Erich noted. "Another two, three engines and we're at that group that signalled us."

"That was Sergeant Harrelson," Kaye commented. "So what's your involvement in this?" he asked Hess.

"Started out chasing down some silly asswagon that shot up retreating ladies with a shotgun, then shot up my neighbor. Get through, get off on this planet, find out two critical things: there is no easy route home, and this planet is in shittier shape than LA after the Watts Riots."

"That is bad," McCabe said with some disbelief.

"Believe it. The total confirmed territory on this planet that is not in a state of anarchy is the military base above this railhead," Hess said, pointing to the ceiling above them for effect. "The mandate of the Protectorate is to clean up the planet. This may take a while."

Two engines prior to the end, the teams were stopped again — this time by the rest of the SWAT Element that Kaye and McCabe were attached to. "Whoa. World War Two revisited?" Sergeant Harrelson asked.

"Not revisited, Sergeant, in the middle of fighting," Captain Foley said. "We were detoured on the train over there, and the big guy in the Mall Ninja uniform took the time to extract us. Along with about 400 other people."

"Pretty good for a squib," McCabe commented from behind Hess.

"The fun hasn't even started yet, gentlemen and lady," the Kentuckian said with a smile. "Alright, guys, next car should be the control car. You know the routine."

"On it," Sergeant Moody said. "Elder, Jones, Ellis, prepare to clear."

"Asako, break-box it," Hess ordered.

"Sir," she said before she moved up and past Moody's troops.

"You really have devices to get into the secured systems?" Sergeant Harrelson asked.

"The Star League has effective ownership of these trains, so they hold the keys. The Star League Executors, their enforcement branch, want these trains out of service permanently. I want these trains disassembled and sold for scrap, so I can finance the expertise to get the occupants of the trains a ride home. Follow?"

"I hear ya," the SWAT Sergeant answered.

The conversation was cut short briefly by the deafening blast of a Flashbang grenade tossed into the control center of the engine, followed by Sergeant Moody and his men making their entry. "Your guys know how to do it right," SWAT Officer Sanchez said.

"They train hard for this. Helps, too, that they are Normandy veterans."

"Clear! Three secured!" Moody shouted.

"Bring 'em out. Asako, get in and disable the engines."

"Way ahead, old man," Asako said with a smile just before she ducked into the engineer's compartment.

"That one's a bit sassy," Officer Kaye noted.

"She's a product of the Trains through and through," Erich noted as he leaned back against the catwalk rails and folded his arms over his chest, above his magazine pouches. "Asako was a Tokyo college student, until some of her friends tricked her onto the train across the way. She survived three years on the Train, shooting her way back and forth and generally avoiding the Slavers. I found her sleeping in one of the luggage cars and offered her an out. She volunteered to head up the units that will be clearing these trains."

"And what about the people?" SWAT Officer Street asked.

"I will find them housing, temporarily in the base, and as area above is secured around and outside the base area," Hess said. "This planet has depopulated itself to a significant degree in the past decade of anarchy and debauchery. Plenty of room to grow, all that is required is to secure and stabilize."

"Engines disabled and locked out, boss," Asako reported after she came out of the control room. "How we do this? My team not ready yet."

"We catch any leakers for now," Hess said. "I will not send an untrained team in. Only a couple months."

"What about a SWAT Team? Trained enough?" Sergeant Harrelson asked.

"Do I sense someone volunteering for the job of clearing the trains?" Erich asked suspiciously after a few moments of silence.

"Well, you know, you do need the cash to get people home, and I would like to return home to my family, so I think we have a common goal," Sergeant Harrelson noted.

"Sounds like a confluence of purpose," Hess said. "Pay is 7500 C-bills salary, room and board, supplies, and any gear you pick up on your way through you can keep. Acceptable?"

"I'm in," Sergeant Harrelson said. "Sanchez?" She nodded. "Street?" He gave a thumbs up. "Boxer?" Also a nod. "TJ?" another nod. "Deke?" Last response was a thumbs up. "We're in."

"Welcome to the Rail Guard unit, Sergeant," Erich said. "Your section command is… busy needling Sergeant Moody, for some reason." he indicated Asako, who was pestering the Sergeant for no readily notable reason.

"And who's the head honcho?" Officer Boxer asked.

"Actually, I am," Hess said. "The Executors commissioned me to clean it up, and hooked me up with one of the big-league Star Empires as a Protectorate. So, I'm on the paperwork as the boss. Fun times."

"Hope you got a plan, big guy," 'Deke' commented.

"Oh yes, I do. Several." Hess looked to one of the WW2 troopers. "Captain Foley, can you get the 70-David team a set of bunks? Not going to ask them to sweep and clear a train this soon after getting off one." Hess turned back to the Sergeant. "Give you a day or two to get settled in, get any material deficiencies squared away, then we can get you in the 311 train over there to clear it out."

-x-x-x-

(Year SLR-9063, April 4, 2300 Local)  
(Day 15 of Campaign)  
(Command Center, 3rd floor residences, Base Erlanger, Terra 232)

"Any way you can get some kind of read on what's going on in there?" the one guy in the troupe asked, indicating the one lit room in the apartment (the shower room).

"Not without being blatantly obvious about it," the eldest of the ladies rebuked him.

"Keep it down, we don't want to be heard," the youngest of their rank asked.

"You hearing anything, Isadora?" One of the middle-of-the-road ladies in the group asked.

"Bit of bad singing is all," the one presumably named Isadora commented. "Doesn't sound like anyone else is in there. Ann, you hear anything?"

"It might be true," Ann commented dryly. "I shudder to think, but…"

"There is always hope. We might be able to straighten him out," the elder (Isadora) noted.

"Bit late for that," a haunting voice said from the wrong direction. After a moment, a powerful flashlight clicked on from the vicinity of the main desk in the back center of the room, which spotlighted all five of the entrants. "There is no magic fix for crazy. It is the fate of any True American."

"That's not what we're worried about, sir! Honest!" Isadora said.

The flashlight clicked off after a moment. "Lights, slow up," Hess ordered. After a few moments, the lights came up to proper power., to where the snooping five could see Hess was waiting for them with pistol in hand and the powerful Streamlight TLR on the bottom used to blind them. The Kentuckian could easily tell they were five of the recruits, though what their purpose here was, he had only a partial clue. "Okay, some straight reason is needed here. The five of you have been snooping around here more than once in the past week. I want an explanation."

"Wait, if you're here, then what — " The youngest of the group pointed to the bathroom, lit with sounds still coming from it.

"Decoy. Sound system I used to record the sound of myself taking a shower and singing in the shower yesterday," Hess gave away that much. "Still waiting for an explanation."

"Sir, this one is on me," the one human in their group noted. "I suggested we actively try to break a rumor going around about you. This lout," and the one guy in their rank yelped when needled in the ribs, "is actively trying to confirm the rumor."

"What rumor?" Hess asked.

"The personnel are beginning to think you're, well…" She let the sentence trail off.

"Huh? Finish the sentence please?" Hess asked after a moment.

"Can you holster your sidearm, sir? Or at least set it down? I don't want to get shot when I ask this." Hess recognized her as Orla, one of the few persons willing to take up the banner of Artillery in this first group.

"I do not shoot people for asking questions." Even still, Hess holstered his sidearm and locked it down, since it was obvious now the interlopers were inquisitive recruits, not a serious threat.

"Okay, sir, please don't take offense to this," Ann asked.

"Okay, don't take offense to what exactly?" Erich asked in mild frustration.

"Are you homosexual?" the one guy in the group upped and asked in a rush.

Hess simply stared at Ross for about ten seconds. "Where the fuck did that question come from?" the Kentuckian asked in clear shock after enough of the sting of the question wore off.

Isadora took the charge for the group, even to the point of stepping forward. "Sir, look at it from our point of view. You've been here for 14 days. In those two weeks, you have managed to completely ignore any amount of flirting, taunting, or even one rather blatant call to sleep service. That means you're either non-sexual, or homosexual."

"Oh, wow, holy shit, have I been that grossly misread?" Hess asked after a moment.

"So you are not?" Ann asked after she realized what his question truly meant.

"Grab a seat, all five of ye," Hess pointed to the table. He moved over to the mini-bar, grabbed a stack of rocks glasses, a bottle of cheap whiskey, and a tray of ice. He was over to the table himself after a moment. "After blatantly missing those kinds of warning signs, and having to have someone spy on me to try to break such a rumor, I think I need a stiff drink. Who else?"

"All of us," Ann answered. "We five have been known to demolish a case of beer or two."

"My apologies for disappointing, but I have zero attachment to beer. Whiskey, on the other hand, is a native product of my home state." Hess poured each a drink, added two ice cubes, and passed the glasses around the table. His was the last.

"Okay, what is your position, sir?" Isadora asked bluntly.

Erich slammed roughly half his drink in one go. "My personal position is that I am single and straight," Hess declared. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Ross deflate of his hopes. "Sorry, big guy, not the way I motor my boat around."

"One could hope," he said with a smile.

"Now, to allay your fears, Ross, and to any others of such a bent, my policy position is that the Sigma Protectorate has no effective position on gay rights. There shall be no treatment in favor of, or treatment to denigrate, any person based on such choices. It is not my place to tell people how to live their lives, nor shall I make it my place or a policy position of the Protectorate. That is a battle that has no proper outcome; any position for or against can be considered a violation of equal treatment under the law."

"That is good to hear, sir," Ross answered. "There are a lot of lady-only groups that were hoping that was your position, or favorable to them."

"Like I said, so long as no other laws are broke, I don't have a position on what happens in the bedroom," Hess declared. "Now that the policy issue is settled, back to the personal side."

"Why are you ignoring all the ladies that have been trying to get your attention?" Ann asked. "Especially Alexandrina's question."

"Ah, yes, Alexandrina," Hess groused. "That was excessively blatant, but thankfully not widespread public. To answer your question, I have had more ass wagged in my general direction in the past ten days than I have in the prior five years." Hess had once dated a rather saucy lady from a rival company some years ago, but that ended when she grew suddenly averse to being in his house. Something to do with 'gunpowder and ammo stores that weigh more than I do' or some such folderol. Erich figured if she wasn't willing to tolerate his firearms hobby, she wasn't worth his time. Some years later she had been shot fatally by a jerkwad boyfriend, in a rather ironic twist he was supposedly a flaming anti-gun activist.

"So you're just stunned?" Ann asked, surprised that the boss with the planning ability from Hell was caught short by a lady waving her booty in his general direction.

"No, I am trying to avoid a societal problem here." Hess was silent a moment, considering the process he was stumbling his way through. "Okay, let's take this from a different angle. Why are certain ladies trying to get my attention? In terms of guys on base, I am ranked in the bottom three guys total in terms of physical shape or attractiveness."

Isadora hit her drink pretty hard, which Hess guessed was her way of fortifying herself for what she was about to do or say. "Sir, I'll be blunt here. You've put a lot of good laws on the books, especially in terms of no unequal treatment. You also personally intend to enforce them in that fashion. Even with that, though, they are still afraid."

"Of what?" Hess asked.

"Of the Star Empires and the Star League, there is only one Empire that is human minority — the New Moon Star Empire. Among the other Empires, only the Magi are ruthless in enforcing neutral racial policies. The Star League is pretty infamous for not playing by their own rules, and ruling in Human favor more often than not. This planet is in anarchy, effectively, outside these walls. Every time an area goes to anarchy, one of the first things that happens is a movement to kill all the nonhumans. Being perfectly clear here, the various nonhuman groups are convinced that as soon as convenient, you're going to fuck them over."

Erich simply stared at Isadora for thirty seconds, trying to process what she had told him. After he came to the conclusion, he slammed his drink and poured another. "Good God, I'm not fighting my own policy or perception here, I'm fighting an ancient racial bias," Hess concluded.

"Yes, sir, you are," Orla confirmed. "I'll admit I am less worried than others, but it's still there."

"Okay, how do I combat this perception problem?" Erich asked, even though he could guess the answer would not be to his liking.

The answer was, oddly enough, bizarre in the extreme and outside of anything he would have legitimately considered for himself. "Sir, if you were to marry one of each group, you'd — " Hess gagged on his whiskey to the point of a coughing fit. "Sir, you alright?"

"I'll live, I'll live," the Kentuckian responded. "Much easier to drink bourbon than it is to inhale it."

"I was being serious," Isadora commented dryly. "You want to diffuse this situation? Get married across all the compatible racial boundaries, problem solved."

Hess hacked twice, still trying to regain proper use of his lungs. "I know you're serious, which is what causes me the most problem here."

"What? Why? I mean, you did deliberately not write in a marriage restriction into the laws," Ann asked.

"Not a question of the ladies, certainly not of myself, but my family," Erich answered. "At some point in every man's life, they dream long and hard about a harem situation." Two of the ladies at the table giggled at his phrasing, even as inadvertent as it was. "The brave ones go to Utah or Idaho, where they can at least run a risk of getting away with it in seclusion and secrecy. The rest give up the thought, or occasionally take up a mistress. In any of the circumstances, it usually ends badly, but not because of the relationship. It's an ingrained societal thing; one planet, finite space, finite resources, the powers that be cannot have large quantities of people breeding far and wide, or the planet gets overcrowded quickly. No such problem here."

"So do it, then," Orla fairly ordered him.

"Again, not on me, or not on the ladies, but of my family. If I end up in more than one permanent relationship, my family is likely to put out a contract on me," Sigma One declared, then paused. "Wait a minute."

"Yeah, 'permanent' being the key word there, big guy," Ross pointed out the logic gap to the boss.

"And that creates a possible option, while giving me the necessary degree of separation to prevent any problems on my homeworld. Now, to strike a balance between being effective for dispelling the fears, and avoiding the illusion of permanence," Hess said. "From a standpoint of reasonable expectation, how do I need to arrange this so that I am allaying the fears, but not permanently attached?"

"Erm," Ann hesitated.

" 'Erm'? Yeah. Force me to make a move, no plan." Hess closed his eyes, then nodded twice. "Take some time and ask around. Get back to me on an idea what kind of involvement it shall take, and we will work something out. Ross, Isadora, Orla, I charge you three with the dissemination of two critical points: one, that I am not racially motivated, and am willing to make arrangements on a rotating basis. Two, that I am not homophobic and am willing to take a policy of live and let live for such concerns."

"Okay, sir, we'll ask around," Isadora confirmed.

"Get me an idea what it is going to take to avoid a civil war in a fledgling Protectorate, and I will try to implement it. And Gods help me in the execution phase."

-x-x-x-

(Year SLR-9063, April 7, 1000 Local)  
(Day 18 of Campaign)  
(Airfield, Northern Ramp Areas, Base Erlanger, Terra 232)

"Engines output good. No fires. Ready for takeoff."

"Apache Element, Control you are cleared for takeoff," the one Operator on duty gave him the final clearance.

"Apache One is clear of ground," Jeff noted after he advanced the blade collective to begin climbing. "Apache one, rolling out on course now. See you in an hour, control."

"This feels so different from the simulators," Cynthia said. "Did Alexander and his crew get the targets set up last night?"

"They said they did," Jeff considered. "I have their locations marked in the nav system. Remember, we get the left-side targets; Apache Two has the right side."

"Got it," Cynthia replied to her boyfriend / pilot.

"On your four, Jeff," Ona declared. "Looks like the boss just wants us to get familiar with the terrain right now."

"Feet dry," Jeff reported after his craft passed the walls. "Damn, this feels great! I never thought I'd be flying an attack chopper!"

"Different world up here," Ona agreed. "Oh, look, first target array, dead ahead."

"I see it. Engaging left," Cynthia said by rote as she used her IHADS (1) targeting system to track, then her fire controls to dump both lasers into it.

"Engaging right," Miyuki reported from the gunner seat of the second craft. With two weeks of gunnery training, neither gunner missed the easy shot. "Target scratched. What's next?"

"We have six kilometers to the next set, which are to be engaged with Hellfire missiles," Ona reported.

"Looking forward to it," Cynthia answered. She loved using the Hellfire missiles in the simulator, and her first real chance to use one would be a wonderful experience. The anticipation was already getting to her.

"All right, vote count," Jeff asked. It was an informal opinion poll amongst the air crews, and always directed at their boss, Sigma One.

"What are we voting on today?" Miyuki asked.

"The harem rumor," Jeff responded.

"I approve of this message," Miyuki answered. "I can see why he is doing it, but Gods help him. If he isn't firing blanks, he's going to end up with one extremely extended, convoluted family."

"I vote him crazier than before, by far," Ona cast her ballot. "One lady is bad enough, rotating array of ladies is going to be devastating."

"Cynthia?" Jeff asked.

"I can see where he's coming from, but its not for me," she responded. "I couldn't imagine having more than one guy, and I can't imagine what he is going to go through with more than one lady."

"And I vote with Ona. Crazy bastard. And I'm not going to throw any Kentucky inbreeding jokes in here, since he's spreading that gene pool out — way the hell out, if the rotation rumor is true."

"Heads up, next target set is visible," Miyuki declared.

"Hold here, fire from range," Jeff decided. "We need to get used to using these things at — " A radio crackle interrupted him midsentence. "The hell was that?"

"Static? Couldn't be, not on a digital commo bus," Miyuki answered.

The radio crackled again. "This is Baker 4, Baker 4, anybody in range please respond!"

Jeff switched his radio transmit over to the frequency he had received the call on, 121.5mhz (the GUARD emergency frequency). "Baker 4, this is Apache One, declare your emergency," Jeff responded, though he didn't know why.

"Apache One, Baker 4, we're under attack from unidentified assailants! We're trying to get civilians out of the gang war zone north of Erlanger, and we were ambushed by thugs! We need any help possible!"

"Got him," Cynthia reported. "He's northwest of us," she pointed in that general direction. "He's at that creek, nearby those trees."

"I see it, that's only three kilos away," Ona said. "Your call, Jeff. We don't know what we're getting into."

"And they don't know what kind of thunder we're packing," Jeff responded to the hint of worry in her voice. "Baker 4, Apache 1, we are sixty seconds out. Two support craft inbound. I need a vector from your position to the enemy forces for air strikes."

"Roger that, thank you Apache! Enemy forces number 5-0 hostiles, disorganized and unevenly equipped but very tenacious, north side of the river, trying to force a crossing to attack the evac!"

"Roger that, north side."

"Baker 4, Apache 2, confirm no friendlies north shore of river, over," Ona requested.

"Yes! No friendlies, they just executed my one man that was surviving over there! North shore is straight red!" Baker 4 shouted.

"Roger that," Jeff said. "Apache team, ride in hard and fast, attack direction north, cleared hot. Authorized arsenal at gunner's discretion. Remember what Sigma One said: ammo is cheap, blood is not. Good to go?"

"Gods damn, the boss picked you as the element lead for a reason, now I know why. Twenty seconds."

"Jeff, stabilize, I'm going to start with the lasers and rockets," Cynthia declared. Jeff brought the nose of the craft up, which slowed his forward speed but brought the weapons pods into battery and onto the right angle to fire. "Solid tone! Firing Hydra!"

The weapons pylons were built into an articulated frame that could adjust their angle of traverse and elevation to make sure the weapons went where the gunner wanted them to. The total angle of slew was not much, but at a kilometer distance even three degrees made a helluva difference. Cynthia ripped off some fifteen of her rockets on a sweeping burst of the north shore of the creek, which at the range she fired spread the rockets out some forty meters.

"Apache two, closing up," Ona reported. "Sir, seeing a lot of swinging dicks, no armor — " she was cut off midsentence as an enemy passed a burst of Light Machine Gun in front of her. "Correction, armor detected."

"I see it. You suppress the infantry, I have the Elemental." Cynthia uncaged the ER Medium Lasers and slaved them to her IHADS, then stared through the cockpit window into the distance to track the lone Elemental armor on the enemy side. Mister Elemental was briefly distracted by rocket fire from the second Apache, which gave Cynthia a clear shot and a second later her first armor kill. "He's down!"

"Good shooting, girl!" Miyuki shouted.

"Apache 2 is breaking wide, we're getting a lot of ground fire," Ona reported as she reefed her craft wide right. Such ground fire wasn't a major threat to the craft, shotguns and assault rifles were a poor choice to attack something with reinforced light-tank-grade armor, but prudence sometimes meant survivability. "Cynthia, can you clear some of them out?"

"Jeff, get me up to 400 meters, I'm going to use the Mark 19s," Cynthia requested.

"We're there, love," Jeff reported.

Cynthia slaved the Mark 19 automatic grenade launchers into her IHADS profile, which gave her three rounds a second of extreme anti-infantry lethality. The method was simple, and something she practiced ruthlessly: the gunner looked as far left as the grenade launchers could slew, depressed the triggers, and slowly swept her view from left to right across the enemy force structure until she hit the maximum right slew, at which point she let off the trigger. In the one burst attack, she managed to down or outright kill roughly twenty of the enemy infantry.

"Apache 2, going in for hot pass, fire direction west, AP Gauss and Mark 19s," Ona reported.

"Cleared hot," Jeff reported after he verified there were no friendly leakers in the path of the attack. Ten seconds later, the fire started and lasted for roughly five seconds before Miyuki let off the triggers. "Apache 2, secure weapons, remaining enemy appears to be bugging out. Baker 4, enemy appears to be breaking contact and fleeing north, how copy?"

"Good copy, Apache 1, _muchos gracias_ for the air support! You wouldn't happen to know the way to Erlanger, would you?"

"Baker 4, this is Erlanger Command, standby at your present location, I have deuce-and-a-half trucks coming your way to evacuate survivors and wounded. How many head do you have need of transport?" the controller asked.

"Erlanger, Baker 4, I have roughly 90 to evacuate, including some two dozen wounded. Thank you for the trucks! We'll hold here!"

"Roger that, Baker 4. ETA 1-0 minutes. Apache Element, Command, hold position for overwatch Baker force, then resume initial operation plan in accordance with exercise parameters."

"What? No RTB after this firefight?" Cynthia asked.

"Negative, Apache One Gunner, boss says that even if you earned a brownie point for the day, you're not exonerated from the initial mission. Acknowledge last."

"Confirmed, command, resume shoot-ex as per initial oplan," Jeff said. "Our CO must live somewhere off the deep end, in that mythical land known as Hardassville," Jeff said.

"He is the boss," Cynthia replied with a sigh.

-x-x-x-

(Year SLR-9063, April 8, 1400 Local)  
(Day 19 of Campaign)  
(Airspace north of Base Erlanger, Terra 232)

"This is freaking unreal, sir, are you getting my video upload?" Jeff asked by long-range radio.

"Roger that, I'm seeing it," Sigma One responded. "When the sensors picked them up on seismic several days ago, I passed it off. Shoulda paid a little more attention, looks like they're coming our way."

"A thousand Tigers on the move," Tyee said. "Fifty c-bills says they're heading to the newest lands of the free and home of the crazies."

"No take," Hess said immediately, since it was his estimation that said plan was exactly what they were doing. "Of course they're heading toward us. They're following the one road that leads to our northern gate. They know, and they're prepared for the haul." Sigma One zoomed in on one of the Tigers that had a 'load bag' on his back, and in it was four tiger cubs riding shotgun on what was probably one of their parents' back..

"And then there was one question outstanding," Tyee noted. "The second phase of the racial question."

"To which, the first answer still applies," Erich answered immediately. "I said it before, I say it again. Equal consideration under the law. No more, no less."

"That's only a partial answer, sir," Tyee said with heart. "You know and I know the same 'protection' exists under Star League law. We both know it is also a hollow reed, not a pillar of strength. If you want this to work, you're going to have to make a move, or several moves."

Hess was silent for roughly ten seconds. "Two things. You're leading the convo towards something. You have a personal stake in the question. Before we go further, I want to see the cards on the table, follow?"

"Yeah, I do have a personal stake in this, boss. The question, by technicality, affects me just as much as it will them," Tyee said.

"Hrm, I had a feeling that hair color wasn't a dye job," Hess said, seeing the writing on the wall. After doing some late-night research, Erich had learned that both Dragons and Phoenix existed in areas that he had not lived before, and technically lived now. They also had the ability, through certain ritualized spellcraft abilities, to change their form to human by spellcraft, which rendered them genetically compatible with humans and similar, though with the distinguishing mark of their hair (some reports said certain body hair as well...) being related to their draconic / phoenix breed. It did not take Hess more than six hours after reading that to determine that Tyee was either a Gold Dragon in human form, or a Gold Phoenix in human form.

"How long have you known?" Tyee asked, given he had just had his 'lead' cut off in one sentence.

" 'Bout a week or so," Erich said. "Which is it? Gold Dragon, or Golden Phoenix?"

"Gold Dragon," Tyee admitted after about five seconds of hesitation.

"And there are at least a dozen or so more in the ranks," Hess guessed. "Green, couple blues, couple that I am guessing are Eternals, a red, and that's not even touching the Phoenix." The security room door slid open, which drew attention to the new entrant. "Just the person I need to speak to," Hess said to the person who walked in.

"You're thinking something," Cyrene said warily. "Do I need to break out the official letterhead or a get-out-of-jail memo?" Executor Curone asked.

"Well, if you want to release some of the faceless Star League bureaucrats from jail before they get busted in, your call," Erich said.

"That bad? I think I may like this," Cyrene said. Their banter was based on a law that Hess had wrote into the Charter for the Star League's squad of micromanagers. Any government functionary, foreign or domestic, that violated rights established elsewhere in Sigma law was subject to courts martial. This applied to the Star League, as well, and given that the Magi's equivalent law was considered valid and enforceable, Hess figured he would likely have to use it when the SL bureaucrats came to Sigma in force. "What's the controversy of the day?"

"Here in about four hours, I will be making a speech. It will not be a pleasant speech to give, mainly for the principle that forces it, but it is necessary nonetheless. I will make some promises in that speech to get things moving in a proper direction. I need to know if those promises can be implemented."

"Name them," Cyrene asked after a moment.

"My big one is Tyee, here, and others in the dragon / phoenix families. They are presently concealing themselves in human form, but I take it some of them would like to get out and stretch your wings, no?"

"Might be nice, yes," Tyee said whimsically.

"I read that the ability to switch between human form and dragon-base or phoenix-base form is controlled with a fairly ancient spell. Also, on a cross-ref, I noticed in a Magi field manual that it is possible to ensconce almost all spells in a Spell Rune, and make it permanent. One, can it be done in the case of the cross-form spell, and two, what does it take to make it work?"

"Holy shit," Tyee said. "You're saying make Runes to do that?"

"Well, why not?" Hess asked plaintively.

"Why? I mean, thanks, but — " Tyee stammered.

"Too loud?" Erich asked. His (semi-official) Adjutant / SPO (and now first confirmed cohort that was also a Dragon) nodded affirmative to the boss. "Bit of a quick story for you. The present state of my homeland, a rapidly-degenerating republic that is roughly one disaster and a fart away from anarchy or totalitarianism, is due in large part to one major failing. Over a century of minor actions and shifting intentions, the scum of the earth have taken over America, and the people who lost it all did not make noise when appropriate. They were trashed and beat down when they got 'too loud' for the sensibilities of the dearth of commies and degenerates in 'civilized' society. Fast forward to my time, 120 years after the beginning of the marxist creeping plague, and the men and women of my land are fighting the government tooth and nail to reestablish rights mostly written out by activist judges and scumdog politicians." Hess paused to let that sink in for a few moments. "There are consequences to your silence. If you want something, you fight for it. You make noise about it. If you have the right to do something, you do it, and if necessary, you piss on the leg of anybody protesting it. Bonus points if you can convince them it is raining."

"If you can piss on someone's leg and not get kicked in the whang, I would want to see that," Cyrene said with a smile.

"Indeed, which is why it is bonus credit for convincing the whizzee that it is raining," Hess said with a massive grin. "On the other hand, I knew a few leftwads in College that could have been pissed on by the numbers by a platoon of Foley's paras, and they would have sworn it was a good hard rain. Always consider the target when pissing on someone."

"Okay, okay, you're saying we should be public about it?" Tyee asked.

"Why not? Works for everyone else in Existence, why should the Dragons or the Phoenix be condemned to the shadows?" Erich asked plaintively. "More to the point, I don't see any particular reason why we can't provide Runes to do the form transfer — we have the space, and for persons in Sigma, call it a job perk to freely alternate between forms as desired."

"And we get to use those skills for the company, right, boss?" Tyee asked on the sly, though his tone suggested that Hess had an alternate purpose.

Hess considered that Tyee was partially correct — there was a hint of ulterior motive, but… "Hey, that's on the volunteer for you, _amigo_. Same for any of the others. You want to operate as a bog-standard biped, fine by me, you want to operate as a dragon, also fine by me. Volunteer outfit, remember? That also means **what** you volunteer is your call."

Tyee barked a round of laughter. "I must work for a stark raving lunatic American! Gods help us all!" he half shouted between fits of laughter. "Of course, we're already being helped by the Executors, though I'm convinced that you're in on this madness as well!"

"Well, no shit comrade," Cyrene replied in jest. "Of course I'm in on it. That's why I'm busy going over the mental checklist of materials to make his plan work."

"So it can be done," Hess said adroitly.

"Oh yes, it can be done, but it has to be done in pairs: one rune to change from biped to avian, the other rune to change from proper form back to two-legger. Best bet would be to do it in small hangars, twenty meters wide by as much tall or so, if you had four small ones available next to each other, would work best. Two for the ladies, two for the guys," Cyrene explained. "Okay, there are two ways to do this. One, we can ink the rune using magicked ink. The other way would be to cut the ferrocrete floor in the pattern of the rune, and pour molten Mithril with magicked ink into the carving to make it permanent."

"Pros and cons of both methods?" Erich asked.

"Ink only pro: I can have it set up in a day like that. Con: I'll be redoing it on a monthly basis, maybe faster depending on workload." She sighed. "Doing the molten Mithril with the magicked ink would make the setup permanent, or at least as permanent as the hangar floors would be. I have options to ensure they stay there for a good long while."

"There's a pretty nasty con there, going by your hesitation," Sigma One prompted her.

"The cost and production requirements to make such a large rune would be excessive. Even if you go low yield Mithril Ore to do the job, you're still talking on the order of 6 million per rune, materials and labor."

Hess glanced at Tyee, then back to the Executor. "Anything to be gained by going higher in material qualities?" He asked after a moment.

"Yes, the higher purity of Mithiril tends to improve rune response time, so a permanent rune using high-yield ore or trade-quality ingot would complete the conversion faster," Cyrene explained.

"What would the time differential be? Low yield to trade qual?" Hess asked.

"Ten minutes on the low side, give or take how scuzzy the base ore, versus one or two minutes on the trade-quality material. At that point, you're in the neighborhood of 8 million a rune, including me setting them up."

Hess chuckled. "If you set them up right, what would be the expected TTL (2) on the runes?"

"Thousand years or more," Cyrene scoffed. "If you protect them from the elements, like in a hangar, you're talking five or six thousand years on easy." Her guess was predicated on the presence of the Teleport Rune outside the Executor's Palace, which after being set up by Lord Tenchi in years past in the same fashion, was still in flawless use some eleven thousand years afterwards.

"I just spent 9.2 million on a pair of helos, and I sure as hell don't expect a service life of a thousand years out of them. Amortize this investment across a thousand years, you're talking 8000 c-bills a year per rune. For what I plan, and when wagered against the twenty or so already in the unit, not even counting what is yet to come, that's 400 c-bills benny per staff member that would use it."

"Twenty-five in the group, sir," Tyee said. "Oh! I know, you didn't count the black dragons! Their hair color would be considered normal."

"Aye," the Kentuckian replied, which changed his numbers around but made little difference in the final outcome. "Long term, not a hard investment to amortize. The question is, if I build it, will they use it?" The 'boss' looked to Tyee for the answer.

"Then? Pfft. I'd pay fifty c-bills **right now** to stretch my wings. And I'd use the hell out of the runes, especially with a one-minute conversion time. And I'll further bet my next three months' salary that just about every other airborne in the group would join; the longer we're in biped form, the more enervating it can be. You build it, oh hell yes they will come, and they will likely love you for it, especially if you allowed them parking space for sunning themselves afterwards. Kinda like tanning, but for dragons."

Hess nodded three times. "System, display Base Erlanger map, highlight hangars rated for wingspan below forty meters but above twenty meters." The map grayed out but left a total of sixteen buildings highlighted in red outlines. "There you go, Cyrene. Take the four easternmost of those buildings, prep 'em for rune inlay. What can I expect for contract fee from you for this?"

"I charge by the hour, you're looking at four days to get them all set up at ten thousand an hour, so you're looking at 480,000, 500 if something comes up pickles."

"And I thought I was charging hard at a 75-an-hour contracting fee for fixing computers," Hess grumped, clearly disheartened by the salary differential. "Tyee, head over to the HPG and find us four one-ton ingots of Mithril on ScrapNet, trade quality or pure quality. I want them ready for use no later than this time tomorrow, clear?"

"On it, sir!" Tyee said with a smile.

"Jeff, you still on the radio?" Hess asked.

"Been here the whole time, sir," Jeff answered. "Cynthia thinks that is one badass plan."

"Continue tracking the leading edge of the tiger migrants. They're coming our way, and I think this needs to start with them."

"Can do, sir," Jeff Evans acknowledged.

He dialed a quick-link to the rump administrator (Alissa), which brought her onto an unused screen. "Go for comms, sir!"

"Alissa, I need some specialty manpower delivered here soonest. I need a mithril smelting crew, mobile, willing to work with magic runes. I also need a ferrocrete cutting crew who are willing to do very high precision work, on the order of tenth of centimeter precision. And lastly, keep an eye on Tyee when he walks in, so he doesn't spend us into oblivion. Follow?"

"You let him loose on ScrapNet, sir? You're braver than I thought!"

"Special project only," Hess said. "Have him return here when done."

"Roger, sir. HPG is out."

With everything in motion to make this happen, the room became rather silent. Hess decided it was time to offer the field back to the Executor. "Go ahead and say it, Cyrene. You know you want to."

Cyrene sighed. "I will not, mainly because I realize my initial reaction is technically wrong." The Executor flopped down in one of the high-back office chairs favored by the long-gone security personnel. "You are doing this because it is excellent PR, and because you think in that 'Merican-addled brain of yours it is the right thing to do. If you can get along with the so-called scourge of the sentients, the Dragons, you can get along with anyone."

"And with the other thing I have going on, I'm sending the message on all fronts." It was Hess' turn to sigh. "I hate having to compensate for someone else's racial bias, but at least I can do it. In my home nation, the waters are so thoroughly poisoned that I and many more are convinced there is no solution short of a race war. Here, I have a fighting chance to make it work."

"It's going to be a challenge, but I think it can be done. Certainly better than the Star League did."

"Speaking of the Star League, I wonder what the ferrocrete cutter crew would charge to go around the walls and chop out the Star League emblems, since this base no longer belongs to them."

"If you get the right crew, they'd do it for free," Cyrene said. Her comment in jest would turn out to be rather prophetic.

"One last thing before we break up this pow-wow," Erich said. "I saw your eyebrow twitch when Tyee said he'd pay fifty to have someone cast the form-change on him right now. You going to take him up on the offer?"

"I'd do it for free, but if he's offering, so much the better. Just don't tell him that."

"Secret's safe with us, Executor," Jeff reported over the radio link.

"I'm game," Erich said with a smile. He estimated that the permanent conversion solution would boost morale amongst the unit, and help calm the worries amongst the civilians. His estimate was short of the effect by an order of magnitude.

And having a Gold Dragon in the skies when he gave a speech to the Tiger refugees, that didn't hurt his PR campaign one bit.

-x-x-x-

(Year SLR-9063, April 8, 2100 Local)  
(Day 19 of Campaign)  
(Personal Quarters of Sigma One, Command Center, Base Erlanger, Terra 232)

"Sir, I have Drill Instructor Waters here," Alexander reported by radio.

"Send her in," Hess answered by radio from the executive desk in the center rear of the apartment.

While the Drill Instructor approached, Hess took a moment to regard the one thing on the notepad that had been left by the Major General. It was a simple message, undated and undirected, but all that much more poignant. 'To my successor: watch your ass, watch your men, and watch the lands. The Star League governs not. It's all on you now.' After a couple days to contemplate it, Hess had photocopied it and posted it on several of the message boards as something of a motivational poster. Three days later, Hess found most of them had been removed, framed for permanent display, and placed around certain high-traffic areas of the halls as a reminder of the complete 'Charlie Foxtrot' that Sigma was trying to correct.

The original message, Hess figured, he would put in his personal display case over in the far corner, as a bit of a reminder of the challenge.

"Drill Instructor Waters, reporting as requested, sir!"

"Grab a seat, Waters." Hess said. "Anything to drink?"

"Water, if available?" she requested.

"Always," Hess grabbed two bottles, one for himself and one for her, from the mini-bar to the right of his desk. "Alright, this meet is by your request. What ails you?"

"Sir, we have a problem. I have over 180 recruits in basic training, I have enough instructors for Basic, but there are a goodly portion of these personnel that don't need basic, they're already at least that skilled and they need to be in advanced training or they need to be in the field."

"Okay, I am not questioning your judgment when I ask this, but why would someone walk in here ready for operations?" Erich asked plaintively.

"Sir, you do realize your rolls include two of the ancient Gods of War?" the Drill Instructor asked after a moment.

"Indeed, Anhur of the Egyptians, and Hachiman of the Japanese," Sigma One said. "Those two names are rather distinctive in a listing of otherwise common persons."

"Yes sir, and those two could easily school just about everyone else on base on the arts of war, with the possible exception of Executor Curone."

"And I am aware that there are more Gods and Goddesses in my ranks," Hess said before the conversation could go any further. "According to Aphrodite, word has already gotten out that I am offering a safe haven to them. I guess not specifically saying 'no' to the old divinities counts as safe-haven nowadays?"

"I guess, sir," she replied drolly. "You are aware of the history there?"

"Oh yes, though from what I gander of it, a lot of that history is collateral damage. The Greek gods and goddesses may have gone apeshit, but the dropping of the Egyptians so far as I can tell is echoes of the Old Emperor's assbeating session, ripple effect in action if you will. Same with the other pantheons."

"Yes and no," the DI said, using one of his own favored apropos against the Kentuckian. "Yes, in that the disbanding of those pantheons could be considered 'collateral'. No, in that when the Old Emperor dropped Zeus and annihilated him, he issued an ultimatum to the other Gods. Basically, the Old Emperor told them to lay off the little people or get the fuck out. The bulk of them chose to get the fuck out, and have floated from one safe-haven to the next since then. The only Greek God that played nice with the Magi was Ares, and the Norse Gods to a man sided with the Magi, and a few odds and ends divinities are still floating around, but that is it. Everyone else bailed out when the Old Emperor gave them an out."

"Okay, is this going to be a recurring issue?" Hess asked.

The DI took a long swig of water. "No sir, my talk last night with Heimdall confirms that he is rather happy that you're willing to let him in on the ground floor with no questions asked. For rogue divine beings, the options are either to go off the grid or find somewhere that they can lay low in a 'free zone'."

"Ah. Once booted, twice jobless. Man, the times I have heard that story." Hess gauged. "Okay, that is plenty of valid point. How do we determine who passes in direct and who has to go through basic?"

"I was thinking that over, and I may have a plan, sir. It will require having DIs for all the type classifications, something you didn't do deliberately, but you could in theory put down a force on the ground right now comprised of divinities."

"And I think I know where this is going," Hess continued where the Drill Instructor left off. "The type instructors test competency and pass on those who are default ready?"

"Exactly," Waters said before she hit the water bottle again.

"Okay, you sold me," Hess said. "Tomorrow, get together a list of recommended type instructors we'll want to bring in for this. Also, others that may want to move up to active?"

"Honestly speaking, sir, not many. They are spirited, but the bulk of the combat-trained people in the team are already on active duty. The SWAT Team and the extra Rangers that were trying to defend the Madain Sari refugees were icing on the cake, but we're still under two platoons ready-to-go strength."

"All right. Keep the training going, get them ready. I do not want to put half-trained troops in the field. Darwin is a hellish instructor, and a very nasty reaper. Anything else you wish to go over?"

"No, sir."

"Thank you for bringing this into focus. Dismissed, and have a good evening."

"Sir." Waters stood and turned to leave, but didn't make it more than three steps before something came to mind. "Sir, one thing, if I may?"

"I am listening," Hess said with a raised eyebrow.

"The divinities are coming in on a sense of unstated tolerance. You want to score some brownie points with all the Gods and Goddesses, you may want to add Aphrodite or possibly some other Goddesses to your rotation."

Hess mulled the thought over for thirty seconds. "Definitely doable. You have a timeframe recommendation?" His secondary question was referring to how long he could keep the dating game going per cycle.

"Six months, sir. Long enough to get familiar with them, short enough to avoid the illusion of permanence," she responded almost immediately. "Who knows, maybe after a few runs you'll find the right combos."

"Gods help me," Hess said with a smile. "Thanks for the quick tip."

"Pleasure to work with someone who listens, sir. That puts you way ahead of a lot of small formation leaders. I'm just dreading the day you sign up for basic, 'cause I'm going to have to bust that spare tire off you," she said plaintively. Hess figured her not for the bashful type, and what she had to say was proof positive.

Hess smiled broadly, to make sure she knew she wasn't offending him on the matter. "I could certainly stand to lose this, but for now I am needed up here. Have a good evening, Instructor."

-x-x-x-

(Year SLR-9063, April 9, 1000 Local)  
(Day 20 of Campaign)  
(Railhead Undercroft, Base Erlanger, Terra 232)

"Alright, all the frame bolts on this side are out! Clear on the port!"

"Six clear on the starboard side, and the engine power coupler is out," Hess reported.

"Crane secured, six points of contact," Tyee said.

"Pull it," Specialist Zelgen ordered. After a few moments, the crane kicked into gear and began hoisting the Gate Engine up and away from the frame of the Engine Car. "Oh yeah, that's how it's done!"

"I like results," Hess said in an evil intonation. "Damn if we aren't getting somewhere!"

"Another meter and we're clear of the frame," Rod said. Ten seconds later: "Okay, we're clear of the train car, start bringing it over toward the semi-trailer."

"Take it slow, Tyee. Time may be money, but I'd rather pay the price now rather than pay for repairs or replacements later, follow?" Hess ordered.

"Loud and clear, boss," the Gold-Dragon-in-human-form answered adroitly.

To shift the Gate Engine into place properly, Tyee set a mechanical stop on his crane's directional slew system, so it did not exceed a traverse of 1 meter every twenty seconds. With a gap of 10 meters to move, it was not a long wait or agonizing to anyone watching, especially given they were moving a 25-ton Gate Engine system that was effectively impossible to replace, unless one wanted to expend a huge amount of material and manpower for very rare equipment.

With a half-meter to go on the last engine of the Train 14730, Tyee choked before he got the last engine into place. "Boss! Tangos from the train!"

"Shit! To arms! To arms!" Hess shouted loud enough to be heard without the radio headsets. Even as he was shouting, the Kentuckian bolted for a nearby structural pillar and the Enfield bolt-action rifle leaning against it.

The first shot was taken by the onrushing tangos, but had a surprising result. The lady who shot at Hess first managed to miss; at nearly fifty yards, one would have to be an expert revolver shot to land a first-round knockout on a running person. The miss was not the surprising result, though; the lady, in sheer hubris, had fired the revolver one-handed, without properly bracing for the recoil. When the shot went off from the massively-overpowerful Casull Premiergrade, the revolver recoiled back into her face with enough power to break her nose and knock her unconscious. That she missed Hess by several meters was simply a cherry-tap for the opening battle.

"Boss! Get to cover!" Tyee shouted into his radio headset.

"Tyee, don't do nothing stupid up there! That enclosure is not rated for bullets!" Sergeant Moody ordered. "Sigma One, retreat! You're outnumbered!"

"Not for long," Hess said from behind the undercroft pillar he was covered behind. His rifle snaked out from behind cover, the Kentuckian tucked the stock in, and he loosed the first round into the group. A leg hit on one lady blew out her femur, shattered critically by the 180-grain soft-point bullet Hess favored. A second tango took a hard hit in the left forearm, which spared her chest but completely shredded out her arm from the elbow down. His third shot of the battle went into the chest of a lady with a Dragunov sniper rifle, and even with the body armor she was wearing, it was still a case of 'one shot one kill'.

Hess ducked back in behind cover, and hesitated while the enemy fired several pistol shots in his general direction. Someone in the Rangers brought a BAR into action while Hess was still behind cover, a partial magazine burst netted two of the tangos and drew their fire away from the column.

"_**Majestic winds of the arctic north, rain down on the besieged with Blizzard**_!" Tyee chanted from the crane operator's booth high up, which gave him perfect view to the melee below. The remaining live targets amongst the enemy were sundered by large icicles that shot down from the ceiling above them, each icicle as long as a man's arm and as wide as a baseball, with several hundred icicles total in the volley. In every case the ice assault was instantly fatal and in most cases enough to chop their bodies apart into smaller pieces.

"Whoa, holy shit," Sergeant Moody said. "This voodoo shit's for real!"

"That is how it is done," Hess said with a thumbs up to the crane operator. "That's five points for Tyee. Now, can you finish putting down the rather expensive Gate Engine on the trailer bed while the rest of us clean up?"

"Can do, sir," Tyee said with clear smug satisfaction in voice. "I'd like to lay claim to one of those Dragunov, if allowed, sir. There should be two in the group."

"They're yours, both of them," Hess acknowledged. "I'll set them aside for when you're done on the crane. Rangers, move it up, clear the enemies and secure that last car!"

"Yes sir!" Sergeant Moody said as he led his composite squad forward.

"Nothing like living an interesting life, no?" Hess asked nobody in particular.

"You want to call this interesting? I call you psycho!" Engine Specialist Zelgen half-shouted in dismay.

"Bleh, could be worse," Hess answered with a smile. "Want to help get the engine settled and down on the frame?"

"You're helping, and bring that damn rifle with you!" Rod said.

"Your call," The Kentuckian sighed. He slung the rifle after he safed it, then moved to follow the specialist. _Another day, another unusual job_, Erich thought behind a big smile.

-x-x-x-

(Year SLR-9063, April 10, 1000 Local)  
(Day 21 of Campaign)  
(Oceans east of Western Continent, Terra 232)

"Boxcar, this is Apache, I have land in sight, one o'clock low," Jeff reported.

"Apache, Boxcar, good copy. Nice to see what we are looking for, eh?" Ona replied with a clear sigh in voice. "Twelve freaking hours."

"Could be worse. Ten hour and twelve hour flights were common for commercial jets on my homeworld, which are a helluva lot faster than these helos. This is easy stuff, especially since we have fusion engines for it."

"And that we have autopilot, so our copilots can watch while we sleep," Ona said. "We're about forty kilos out, and another forty to the base in question."

"I'm already ready," Cynthia said. Her part in the operation was only as a backup plan. If something went wrong, or if the base was under hostile control, her weapons expertise would be the saving grace of the team.

The primary plan, though, relied on the cargo of Rangers in the back of the transport Helo. 'Boxcar', a Multimage-vintage Light Horse Infantry Transport helicopter, carried the full Ranger group that had survived the ad-hoc rescue mission Jeff and Ona had laid on on their first day of live-flight training. Some 31 men survived their transition and arrival on planet, out of two forty-man platoons in the initial arrival. Their tales of some kind of cannibals were disturbing, but not hugely surprising to Hess. Their willingness to assist Sigma, however, was rather exceptional and very welcome. The Boss had folded the Rangers in under Captain Foley for administrative purposes and set them up as security for the burgeoning population.

Now, Hess had the group doing a new kind of rescue mission, for a very unusual stranded party. The impetus for this rescue mission was the destruction of the undersea fibre-optic cable station on the southern tip of the Western Continent, which cut off the bases and cities on the Western Continent from the rest of the planet. Without that cable, there was no easy way to relocate a certain mass of data from the Southern Continent to the new hotspot on the planet, Base Erlanger. With the comm satellites unreliable for the purpose, and the distances too great to use over-air data transmissions, that meant someone had to go to the nearest base that the data could be warehoused at, pull a data cartridge, and ferry it back to Erlanger.

Were this a simple case of records retention, Hess would have left it be until he began actually taking over the Southern Continent. In this case, however, it counted as an actual rescue operation. He wasn't extracting a simple mass of data from Base Wolverine, he was extracting an Artificial Intelligence entity, one that had sworn fealty to Sigma and was willing to help the Protectorate clean up her former masters' failures on planet.

"Kinda sad, isn't it?" Ona asked after a minute of silence on the radio. "Even the Artificial Intelligence Entities of the Star League want nothing to do with their own policies."

"Not surprising," Jeff countered. "Given they are AI Entities, they are probably faster to discern and understand the failures of the Star League, and faster to want out of the mess before they become casualty to it."

"True. Five minutes to feet dry."

-x-

(10 minutes later)

"Attention uncoded Helicopters approaching Base Wolverine, please identify," a recognizable female voice asked.

"Attention Wolverine, this is Sigma Apache with Sigma Boxcar, authentication Whiskey-one-niner-Victor. Virtue, do you copy?"

"Apache, this is Virtue. Authentication validated zero-eight-Charlie-Hotel. Be aware, I have intruders on base, you will need to clear them. They are an unsavory lot."

"Ten-four, requesting landing instructions for Boxcar."

"Landing is presently possible directly south of the command center. Once your team makes entry, I will provide instructions to move to the pickup location," 'Virtue' reported.

"Got it, Virtue," Ona answered. She switched over to her internal headset comms. "Listen up! We're two minutes out from the landing zone! Final gear checks and preps, people! Possible hot LZ!"

"Roger that, Ona," Captain Foley answered. "We're ready back here."

Ona switched grips briefly so she could flex her right hand. "Damn. Starting to tense up."

"We're approaching Indian Country," Jeff said, using an older United States Military politically-incorrect term for enemy territory. "We drop in, we extract Virtue, we load up, we get the hell out of Dodge City so fast that Wyatt Earp is left in the dust cloud. Follow?"

"Half of that made no sense to me whatsoever, but I think I get it," Ona said. "Remember, Magi-born, not American. You'll have to explain that to me later."

"If we make it back, we'll raid the boss' booze stash and I'll explain it to you over a double of vodka," Jeff assured her.

The airwaves went silent while the two helo pilots focused on going in low and fast. Jeff reminded himself that sometimes, in Vietnam, helo pilots would fly so low their aircraft would pick up tree branches from the jungle canopy they were passing over. Jeff wasn't willing to do that much, yet, but he figured close enough that he could pick out individual leaves or branches was not a bad altitude.

"Feet over the box," Ona reported at the same time Jeff passed over the walls of Base Wolverine. "I see the clear space. Going in now."

"Virtue, Apache, where are those tangos?" Cynthia asked.

"Tangos are west of the command center, over by the infantry barracks. Hard to miss, red coats on horses," she said whimsically.

"Red coats? British Dragoons?" Jeff asked. Sure enough: "Yeah, I see 'em, about three rows south of the command center, and in the barracks area. Cynthia, if they make for the transport, give 'em a warning line and a shout out on the loudspeaker."

"Got it," Cynthia acknowledged. She was fond of the possibility of a warning line and a call out, especially since she had inadvertently discovered the speakerphone and noise-compensated shotgun microphone on a training mission the week prior.

"Boxcar is on final," Ona reported as she began slowing down for landing in front of the command center.

"Jeff, they're moving, they know we're here." Cynthia tripped the 'master arm' on her weapons panel, selected the AP Gauss Rifles, picked a point well in advance of the Dragoons, loosed a streak of ammo in a sweep that created a hundred veritable dirt explosions in a neat line, then reset and did a second line a little closer to the landing zone. Much as she intended, the Dragoons brought their horses to a very abrupt stop before they crossed the first line.

"Shout 'em out," Jeff said. "The proper term for their force is British Royal Dragoons."

Cynthia flipped the external megaphone on. "Attention British Royal Dragoons, this is Sigma Apache. You have no authority over this area. Do not approach the troop transport or command center or you will be fired on."

"Boxcar is on the ground. Now unloading troops," Ona reported.

After a few moments, one of the Dragoons pulled a white flag and hoisted it over his shoulder by way of his carbine bayonet and rifle. "Jeff, white flag."

"I see it. Have him approach to 100 paces and move the rest of the distance on foot." Jeff switched over to radio. "Captain Foley, Apache, Dragoons are requesting parley."

"I see them. I'm sending three squads into the building to secure Virtue and extract her. I'll hold out here with two squads, we can talk."

"Attention white flag, approach to 100 paces by horse, dismount and approach transport by foot. You will be met partway by Captain Foley. Acknowledge with a thumbs-up." After a few moments, the trooper in question did signal a thumbs-up. "Cleared to approach. Move slow."

-x-

"This is unreal," Captain Foley said. "This world has some of the craziest combinations of residents, and they all deposited here by way of those damned trains."

"And we're going into an old Star League Command Center to rescue a computerized person," Lieutenant Bancost answered the Captain. "This is a mad, mad world, and we're all in it together."

"Sad but true," Captain Foley said, fingering the grip on his new UMP45. He had been initially hesitant to shelve the Thompson he had been issued, but one good demo session on the training field by Hess had sold the entire Ranger / Paratrooper combo force on the new arsenal that Hess had planned out. Moody had pointed out the irony of using German-manufactured weapons (the UMP45 and G36 were Heckler and Koch weapons, manufactured in Germany after World War II), but the Kentuckian had sold them hard on the utility of modernized gear — and Erich had clearly stated that they could retain possession of their old weapons and gear for use whenever they wanted. Besides, the UMP45 weighed less than half that of the Thompson, which made it a helluva lot easier to carry for the troops. The G36 kits carried weighed the same as a Garand Kit, but the riflemen now carried 450 rounds of ammo each, not 120.

Once the troops dismounted and began their trek towards the transport helo, Foley made his move toward the officers. The way his guys moved, they met slightly closer to the British horses than halfway. The groups squared off at an uneasy three yards, seven of Foley's men against five of the British Redcoat Dragoons.

"Lieutenant Blaine Hocksworth, 4th Imperial Dragoons, British Royal Empire. To whom am I speaking?" Their lead officer asked.

"Captain James Foley, 509th Parachute Infantry Regiment, formerly United States Army, now Protectorate of Sigma," Captain Foley said. "You called the meet, what is on your mind, Lieutenant?"

"Captain, do you know of any lands on this planet held by the Crown? We have searched for any mention of the British, but those locals who are not completely savage speak only of England in historical terms."

Captain Foley grimaced; he knew the answer would be unpalatable to the Brits, but it was required nonetheless. "Lieutenant, you won't find England on this planet. This world has been Star League territory only, until just recently when it fell into anarchy and thereafter defaulted to the Protectorate of Sigma." The look of dismay, almost to the point of despair, on the face of the Lieutenant was a familiar sight to Foley. "I know, it's a hard fate to swallow, Lieutenant, but it is not hopeless."

"How so? I know not what manner of treachery or sorcery brought us to this tempest-swept planet, but without hope of return to the Isles, what hope is there?" he asked despairingly.

"There's a group on the Western Continent who's trying to get people back to their rightful homes. I don't know if they will succeed, but we're trying. If you want to take a gamble on it, I'll transport your men back to Base Erlanger. Otherwise, you can try to hold out here, and in a few years we can meet up again."

"Will the patriarch of those lands ask anything of us if we take you up on the offer?" the Lieutenant asked, with a corresponding shift in demeanor from despairing to wary.

"He might ask you guys to help finance the expertise to get yourselves home, but his terms for it are generous," Foley admitted. "Otherwise, it's pull your own weight until such a time as your team's number comes up."

"Allow me to discuss this with my commander, if you will?"

"Go ahead, we're not in a hurry," Captain Foley said.

-x-

Lieutenant Bancost gaped at the array of equipment in question. "And to think, that crazy Kentuckian worked with this stuff day in and day out," he said with clear reverence.

"You'd have to be a super-genius to understand this in depth," Moody guessed. "And he does it almost like breathing."

"Does that mean we're beholden to an evil mastermind?" the Lieutenant asked with a clear smile.

"Mastermind? Sure. Evil? Nah, probably not," the sergeant decided after a moment of considering it. "Ruthless sunzabitch, though."

"That's the way I like my COs," Kyle Bancost noted. "Babying the enemies is not a good way to win a war."

"No chance of that," Moody said. The way Sigma One dealt with people shooting in his general direction, no such worry of 'coddling' an enemy.

"I am completely detached from the Base Wolverine systems, gentlemen," AI Unit Carlie Ghonx ('Virtue') said. "Sergeant Moody, the one cartridge with a red light, please lift up the locking lug and begin pulling it. As the cartridge passes halfway out of the enclosure, two more handles will come open for two more troops to carry."

"Got it," Moody said. On the front bezel of the cartridge, he lifted up the DTU locking handle and began pulling. Each DTU was a hexagon slightly larger than a boot from face to face, and at roughly two meters long weighed in somewhere north of 100 kilograms. They were set up for 4-man carry, with the handles available on the sides of the cartridge designed specifically for it.

The Lieutenant took charge of one of the front handles with Moody, and two other Sergeants took the other handles when they came visible. Once the cartridge was completely out, the troops got a whiff of how heavy it really was. "Damn, this thing isn't light."

"Gonna need some of that Ibuprofen when we get back to the helo, for sure," Lieutenant Bancost said. "Alright, guys, we've got the protectee. Let's get her on the helo and get out of Dodge!"

The group was slower going out than coming in, mainly due to the necessity of carrying the data cartridge, but it still only took them three minutes to de-ass the building. Nobody was inside the building, leaving no threat of encounter or firefight for the troops. All that remained was the chopper, forty yards away from the front door of the building.

"Whoa," the Lieutenant said as soon as he got a good look inside the transport helo. When he left, the helo was half empty. Now, it was almost completely full, with a goodly portion of those residents wearing the red of — "British Royal forces?"

"Say hello to the newest residents of Sigma, Lieutenant," Captain Foley said. "That her?"

"Roger that, this is the package," Sergeant Moody said as the four officers hoisted it up into the chopper. Once inside, the data cartridge was placed on the deck in the center of the floor and strapped down with load-bearing straps and retainer chains.

"Package secured. All the men are in, time to roll out!"

"Roger that," the pilot of the Helo answered.

-x-

"Sigma Base, Apache, reporting package secured, Boxcar and Apache are rotating now to RTB. Show fuel status as 8-0 percent in both craft."

"Apache, Sigma One, good show," Hess answered from a continent away by way of satellite relay. "No hostile contact this time at Erlanger. Any other reports on site?"

"Yes, sir, Boxcar has hitchhikers. Captain Foley inducted a cavalry unit of British Royal Dragoons. They had to abandon their horses, which caused them to hesitate, though Foley convinced them on the promise that you could come up with something better. They are looking for a way home."

"They will fit right in at Sigma," Alexander said under his breath.

"Roger that," Hess said. "Apache, acknowledged, relay to British Commander that I am looking forward to speaking with him at length when he arrives. Sigma Base is out."

-x-x-x-

(Year SLR-9063, April 11, 1300 Local)  
(Day 22 of Campaign)  
(First Floor Officer's Galley, Command Center, Base Erlanger, Terra 232)

" 'Far from shore, a Pacific war, bombs are falling from the skies; It's a bomb run day, it's the naval way; a blood-red sun is on the rise' " Hess sung along to the stereo he had set up randomized along his metal music playlist on his phone. Apparently, Star League equipment gave less of a shit about copyrights than American equipment did, which was pretty abysmal in terms of property rights.

"Why that music?" Asako asked, questioning a song obviously about World War II.

"The history of it," the Kentuckian answered. "Those who forget history repeat its failings. I go out of my way to avoid those mistakes. One good solid way to remember is good, hard, slap-your-face-and-call-you-Sally Metal music."

"Had a boyfriend who listened to hard metal," Asako commented. "Don't remember this. Blood Stain Child, though, do remember. Barely."

"Blood Stain Child?" Hess asked, slightly shocked. "I know this name. Might have to see if I can pull it off the HPG Network. If I ever pay myself, that is. Won't use company funds for that. Absolutely loved their song _Stargazer_."

Asako wrinkled her nose at what Hess was cooking. "What you making?"

"Tacos, with assorted fajita meat in them," Erich said. "This is a personal speciality of mine. I make a large batch of this, like in excess of ten pounds, and it provides several repeat meals when used properly."

"Whoa," Asako said. "Not much hazard of that here, though. The staff will mow through it."

"Much as expected," Erich said. "I also do well cooking for groups, oddly enough."

"Need to try this." She grabbed up a spoon and made for the composite meats concoction, but Hess stopped her implement cold. "What?"

"Not ready yet. You grab some of the meat now, you run the risk of food poisoning. Not a good way to spend a couple days, trust me."

"Ah," she groused.

"Anyway, want to run some schooling ideas past you, considerations on curriculum. Got a notepad?" Hess asked.

"Hope you will do class on bad governments," Asako asked. "Imperial Japan should not be repeated."

"Agreed, but I probably do not agree with you on the reason," Hess said. "Take it down: must cover the majors. Totalitarian states, soured Republics and Democracies, Empires built primarily by subjugation, Communist states, Fascist states, Ecoterrorist states, those are the big ones. There are hundreds of little odds-and-ends, we can make them optional coursework to be done at the instructor's discretion."

"Single term course?" Asako asked.

"Yeah, doesn't have to be a flogged horse to get the point across," Hess said. "I would suggest that class is taken after a basic logic course, that way the lesson self-reinforces."

"Uh-uh," Asako said. "After several logic courses. Starting early. Some of my classmates in college, great book smart, had to order them to come in from rain."

"That describes three out of four inner-city school attendees in America, and as much as half outside the cities, depending on region," Hess said. "We'll do logic courses every other grade. First, third, fifth, seventh, follow?"

"And philosophy on sixth and eighth," Asako commented. "You do philosophy?"

"Yes, along with industrial psychology, back when I was in College," Erich said as he added a good hard sprinkling of cumin powder to his recipe. "We won't do the psychology course as mandatory, but definitely the philosophy. I want students coming out capable of thinking critically and analytically more than I want a walking encyclopedia."

"You way too practical to be politician," Asako said. "Okay, how about literature?"

"Should do a combination, new and old, east and west. Make it a yearly course, combination of literature studies and writing training."

"Manga?" Asako asked. "Sorry, obligatory question. Japanese, remember?"

"Aye," the Kentuckian said as he lifted the frypan off the burner and over to a grease-trap he had set up special for the purpose of draining the bulk of the leftover fat and grease off the meat. "As to Manga, I would say yes but not as a class in and of itself. Usable as supplementary material or primary material when appropriate, fodder for literature classes where appropriate. Make sure we make this age-appropriate as well. Don't need something like Hellsing as a fourth-grade class material."

"No, run that in sixth or eighth grade," Asako said with a smile. "What you doing now?"

"Drain and trap the grease from the cooking, dispose of this in incinerator." Hess did not want the grease going down a drainpipe, as that tended to build up and eventually clog a pipe. "When drained, I add water and my blend of taco seasoning. It will simmer for an hour or so, then be ready to serve."

"Oh, wow, sounds great," Asako commented. "Am seriously hungry."

"Time is the only factor remaining," Hess said with an evil smile. He returned the composite meat mix to the fry pan, added about 6 cups of water, and a blend of seasonings that smelled surprisingly potent to Asako. "So, what else do we need to cover?"

"Sociality," Asako said. "I know, I know, you don't want 'social studies'."

"What are you proposing, then?" Hess asked as he opened a bag of pre-made fajita steak strips to add to his ground meat base. Hess had made clear exactly how 'social studies' was a near waste of time and effort in the US school system, and wanted to avoid a repeat.

"Classes on proper, honorable conduct," Asako said. "Interactions in societies, similar."

"Workable," Hess said. "Write up some curriculum guidelines, and we'll figure out how much class time is required. Next?"

"Erm, request from Alexander, are we going to do any kind of military classes?" Asako asked, looking at a separate notebook she kept in her bra.

"We will do some basic history classes on it, and definitely a basic weapons use / weapons safety course every year. I don't want to get into a position where the only exposure to guns someone has is by way of the movies. That is not a good way to go."

"Got it. Junior Officer's courses?" Asako followed up.

"Yes, but elective only. I am not doing forced service / forced conscription. If this Protectorate cannot get forces on its own and gets overrun by the barbarians, we've earned it."

"No chance of that, boss. The Admins report they get more requests than they can filter through," Tyee said as he approached the chef's station that Hess was using. "Mexican food? Never pegged you for that type."

"It's something of a personal specialty," the Kentuckian admitted while he was chopping up some green peppers to add to the mix. He glanced up at the Gold Dragon-in-biped-form, though his attention was drawn by something else entirely in the dining section of the room. "Whoa."

"If something has you stunned, I'm afraid to look," Tyee groused.

"Your call," Hess said.

With such a challenge, Tyee and Asako could not resist looking. "Whoa is about right, boss."

"This becoming bad habit," Asako groused.

The 'issue' in question was a lady that had hiked her skirt up and plopped her arse down on the table at such an angle that Hess could see most of it from where he stood."I repeat myself, but, I have had more arse wagged in my general direction in the past three weeks, as opposed to the prior six, seven years."

"Good Gods, the denizens of your homeworld are freaking shallow," Tyee said. "Looks are all well and good, results are a bit better, you know?"

"And that's the thing," Hess waved a spoon at Tyee. "On my homeworld, I was decently successful, not earth-shaking fortuitous and apparently not worth looking at. Here on Terra 232, I think I am now in my zone, the land and the principles and the ultimate problem to solve." Erich sighed. "I am now at the limits of my skillsets, and I like it. Time to push the envelope, see how far I can make it, and how quickly I can get things corrected for this planet."

Tyee looked back to the table where the lady was doing a two-cheek salute toward the Boss, and was surprised by the change in scenery. "I think the gesture is multiplying." The Gold Dragon was studious for a moment, considering the quandary. "Aye, it is expanding at a rate of two-to-one. Every time I look, there are two more arses to admire."

"This was organized," Asako said in a low whisper. She thought she could see people outside the door to the officer's mess, and she could definitely hear them.

"Five, now," Hess said. After a moment, the spoon went into the frypan and he threw up two sets of devil horns in their general direction. "Five points for the ladies!" he shouted.

"He did notice! He may not be gay!" one of the five ladies shouted.

"Good Gods, this again?" Hess asked, unconsciously echoing Tyee's epithet. "No, I am not gay, just overworked," he groused. "Looking at five smiling arses sitting on the edge of a table has got me standing tall. Only problem is, ain't got any time to do anything about it."

"What you need is a vacation," one of the ladies said after the five stood up and pulled their skirts down.

"What I really need is a full command staff that I can delegate the low-level and mid-level decision making to. I have a start, Asako here for the Rail Guard division and the education system, but I need more." Hess hesitated as the five approached. "You, Kohana, what are you in for?"

"Wheeled vehicle, sir," she answered.

"Considered a secondary position?" Hess asked.

"No, but I was thinking about volunteering my office skills…"

"Alissa could use some help in the Administrative Group," Hess suggested. "We all have a skillset where we want to be. I, personally, I have seen some holos of some sniper rifles I would love to be behind, but right now I am working on ways to finance this shindig. Pass the word around: if you have alternate skills, combat or noncombat, and you're willing to use them, we're willing to pay for it."

"Definitely," Tyee said. "And besides, if you work in the Admin group, you get to work nearby this monster Evil Genius by default," Tyee said with a clear smile to effect, to which he jerked his thumb at Hess.

The five ladies all lit up after a few moments with the realization. "Tyee, much obliged," Hess said with clear sarcasm when he realized the mess that his primary Praetorian operator just caused.

-x-x-x-

(Year SLR-9063, April 13, 1300 Local)  
(Day 24 of Campaign)  
(Pilot's Barracks, Northern Airfield Area, Base Erlanger, Terra 232)

Each of the pilots received their own barracks room, and ten quarters were combined with a common area in each of the underground bunkers, with a couple common rooms (laundry, supplies) off to the side. Each bunker was twenty meters underground, enough to protect from casual artillery or airstrikes with copious amounts of reinforced ferrocrete, but any serious naval bombardment would punch through into the bunkers.

That said, the only group amongst the six Star Empires that made routine use of suborbital bombardment was the Magi, who by the way were backing and financing the Protectorate of Sigma. Other Mercenary units were very lucky to own their own Jumpship, and the total merc units that owned a Warship could be counted on two hands. As such, the likelihood of the bunkers here being compromised was low.

Which suited Jeff just fine. Cynthia, more so.

"Nice pool table," Cynthia said after she flicked the lights in the common room to 'on'. "Large-screen television, two full kitchens out here, furniture is in great shape, and we've got ten rooms."

"Ona and Miyuki will be taking bunks down here shortly," Jeff reminded her. "We get first dibs, though. We need to pick a good one."

"I'll check the first, third, and onward. You check second, fourth, so on," Cynthia said.

Jeff smiled as he moved to the number 2 personal quarters — formerly for Rajj Mojhonoko — and started by removing the nameplate from the door. He had a plan for the nameplates, a wall mural with the occupants of each room listed in chronological order.

Once he used his security card to 'force' the door, he stopped on the threshold and saluted the empty room. "Absent comrades," he said after a moment, then entered. The room was extremely well preserved, but still loaded with personal effects.

"Jeff, looks like they had to leave in a hurry," Cynthia said. "And all the quarters are the same," she noted after she peeked into the room.

"They had to jump ship all at once, to provide the illusion they were still there to the end," Jeff guessed. "When they left, it was probably flying standby on a small Dropship. Not much room for personal effects. If they got out at all." Jeff had found a wrecked Black Eagle Conventional Fighter (3) northwest of the base on a helo training mission. Whoever was piloting had tried to set it down easy, but didn't quite stick the landing when he ended up skidding into a craggy area. Whether or not he lived to tell the tale, Jeff couldn't see from his fly-by.

"So, now what?" Cynthia asked.

"Well, the boss said, we box up their personal effects, anything we don't keep as memorabilia, and we store them in the hangar access tunnel in some of the old shipping containers," he considered. "Keep the nameplates out, though. I have a plan for them."

"Got it," Cynthia smiled. "A couple of these rooms… wow," Cynthia noted, guessing by their names.

"I know. We've got a lot of boxes to move out, and the boss is thinking about reaching out to the SLDF to return their personal effects."

"Get rid of the disposables," Cynthia said as she wanted back toward the first room. "We'll clean the rooms one at a time, one a day until we get them all. No rush, and I want to focus on the central room."

"Got it," Jeff said. He stepped out of the room and grabbed a box to join Cynthia in clearing the first room. "You pick, I'll box."

"Perfect," Cynthia reported. She had a garbage bag tied to an exercise bar in the room to hold it open and in place while she threw stuff away, which she started with the personal cosmetics and similar materials of this pilot (Joan Gilliam). The small dresser-top effects went into the box that Jeff was policing, along with a jewelry box that was markedly empty. The personal Tri-vid projector remained in its place as useful to Cynthia (and, she silently wished, Jeff if he would share a room with her).

Jeff took a moment to clear out the nightstand next to the rather gracious Queen-size bed. Apparently, the Star League was not afraid to pay for the creature comforts of its personnel, and Jeff silently hoped that Sigma One would be willing to shell out some green for his personnel, above and beyond the Transform Runes that Executor Cyrene was busy putting in place not too far from the present pilot's bunker. The only major thing he found inside the nightstand was a collection of condoms (unused) and a semi-auto pistol that he didn't recognize. The condoms went the way of the trashcan, the pistol went into his waistband after he cleared and safed it.

"Whoa!" Cynthia half-shouted, which caused Jeff to whirl around and see what surprised her. "This is unreal," she said, holding up a bra that looked fairly common to Jeff, but he could guess that something was off…

"What?" Jeff asked.

"The band is normal, 86 centimeters, which is 34 inches or so. The cups, though, you could hold gallon jugs in them." She tilted the band forward enough that gravity caused the fabric to flex out — and it did go farther than any bra Jeff had seen before in his life.

"What size is that supposed to be?" Jeff asked. "And how did she fit in a cockpit?"

"These are supposed to be F — Foxtrot, as in bigger than Echo," Cynthia said. "I agree, how did she fit in a cockpit?"

"Here?" Jeff pointed to a picture on the wall. "I don't think it was Joan that wears that," Jeff said.

"Oh," Cynthia half-moaned after she saw the picture. It was not the pilot who wore such large undergarments; if anything, she was quite a bit smaller than Cynthia expected. The crew chief for the aircraft, however, could have made space for herself in any boy's porno magazine going by the relief of her bust hanging over the edge of the cockpit. Hell, Cynthia figured that rack was probably crowding the pilot out in her own aircraft. "Jeff, check the other night-stand, please."

"Sure, what for?" Jeff asked as he moved around the bed to the other side. When he opened the drawer, he was somewhat unsurprised by the contents. "Condoms, large-frame revolver, two speedloaders, and a small notebook. Not too different from the other side… oh."

"Yeah. This room was…" She let the sentence trail off, since she didn't want to give voice to what she thought was happening in contradiction to her traditionalist beliefs.

"Yeah," Jeff said. "They probably went through a guy a week, would be my guess."

"That was legal under the Star League laws, and is legal under the Magi and Protectorate laws. You going to do that?"

"No," Jeff said. "Not the way I roll," he said immediately. "It's not the way the boss rolls, either, but he's taking one for the team."

"Good," Cynthia said. "You willing to stay with me tonight? Once we get the room cleaned up, that is?"

"Yeah, if you want me to," Jeff said.

* * *

**Author's Chapter Afterword**:

I can guess, this chapter is going to raise some eyebrows.

First off, the core of this chapter is all about the racial problems that the Star League left in its wake, and an echo of a problem that began before the first of the Star League governing bodies was ever formed up. Now, some of you will be inevitably scratching your heads, given the solutions Hess put down in this chapter are pretty compelling as to how they are going to smooth the waters, but not so fast bucko — you're really looking at roughly 14,000 years of racial paranoia in play here and it's going to take a long list of good deeds for Hess to properly settle the issue. It was not until the times of the Star Empire Wars that racial tensions were mostly eliminated amongst the Magi, which took somewhere on the order of 2000 years or so. The Kentuckian has a serious uphill battle on his hands, especially when you consider the near-masochistic dating game he has been signed up for comes into play.

Second, I have laid down the groundwork for the actual battlescape of the next few chapters: the gang wars north of Base Erlanger are to become the savage battlefield that will test Sigma. Little onesie-twosie groups of enemy tangos may be the forward scouts of the enemy forces, but the heavy-hitter formations are still playing their games to the north and south of Erlanger. Once they decide to make a statement by taking Erlanger, things will heat up quickly for Sigma. I'm going to say this right now, don't expect all the characters you've seen thus far to survive the next chapter.

But, as this chapter shows, not all is bad news. First, Sigma has picked up some VERY interesting new residents. The Tiger Clans are not typical beings one would think about as being denizens of the Star Empires, but they were galvanized into the position by Negaverse atrocity and since have been stalwarts of the Magi and Star League, even if their technical abilities are limited. After all, a large Siberian Tiger is not the most efficient user of even basic human tools, but with technological adaptation (Tiger Armor / Tiger Exoskeletons), they have options.

The other addition is a numerically small one, the Madain Sari residents. Natively summoners, these folks are some of the most powerful untrained persons in the story, and hellishly lethal with good training and support. The lethality of the summoners from Final Fantasy 9 (Eiko, Dagger/Garnet) was pretty steep of their own right, but with the modifications to summoning inherent to the MMC / JW / AAA series, that lethality increases by several orders of magnitude. Gone are the days of a summoning for a single attack; now, when the Madain Sari call for their Summons, they are adding manpower to the field with their own spellcraft and combat skills, and each summoner can call on their own personal array of Summons irrespective of any other Summoner or their own summons. So, four competent Summoners, who each call four Summons, suddenly becomes twenty excessively destructive magic users in the space of a minute or two. Puts a whole new spin on the term 'force multiplication' when used right.

And then there is the oddball addition, the AI unit that has been free-floating from base to base on the Southern Continent. 'Virtue', one of multiple Star League AIs that were left in command of the bases as caretakers for when the Star League would theoretically (read: never) return to reclaim the lands, has managed to keep the bases under her ward from completely collapsing or being shanghaied by malicious users, though the appearance of a legitimate party has caused her to decide to defect to Sigma. As an AI, she has a lot of personal ability she can turn to Sigma's benefit, particularly in management and administrative roles, which will turn out to be surprisingly helpful in the coming chapters to cement personnel and positions. And, of course, an AI that has Star League mainframe-level access would be a handy intel and commo resource…

Now, before I go further, I want to make the point that I have been 'hamburgered' by a reviewer on Archangel's Amazing Adventures for the AI Entity in Kira's later machine, the Strike Freedom MP/LRRP, and how that is giving Kira (and by extension the entire team) too much of an advantage. Well, sunshine, if I have to choose between creating drama and showing a realistic approach, I'm going to drop down on the side of realism. First off, AI is in development right the hell now IRL, in several different projects around the world. It is reasonably safe to say that it will exist several hundred or thousand years into the future. YES, AI is a game-breaker when it is allowed to cut loose. Tough shit, sweet-cheeks; if you are 'fighting fair', you are by definition fighting **WRONG**. Hess, being a combat pragmatist, will make sure that his team is fighting as dirty as it has to fight to ensure a win with minimal friendly or allied casualties, and AI manipulation of circumstances is only one facet of that.

That's the majors for the day. I think nothing else needs to be said. **NEXT UP**: The assholes come out of the hills, looking to take over what Sigma has been piecing together. Of course, the Protectorate WILL object. Battlefields drawn up, film will be aired at eleven.

NOTICE TO READERS: If you have suggestions of additions for locations, contract work, what have you, I want to hear it. Suggestions are very likely to be used for fodder for other stories in the Sigma Series!

* * *

**Review Replies**: I had six reviews for Chapter 3 and 1 review for chapter 1. HUZZAH!

c0dy88: Well, not quite yet. There will be some serious torture to come, though :)

Biggie1447: Haven't really worked out an official shortened name, might just call them Protectorate citizens or 'Sigmans' or something similar. Have to work on that.

On the training of advanced equipment, you will note that actually nobody is using advanced equipment yet, except for the helos? And that on the proviso that the maintenance is being done by hired hands that are specialists. Everyone that wants a good, hard position in Sigma has a lot of training ahead of them, excepting anyone who walks through the door with a military record (the Paras and Rangers, the SWAT team, similar).

Once I am done with Sigma 0001, I will probably return to normal writing routines.

KleverKilva: Not quite a bump-out. I am grinding this story down, it will be a short one, then I resume my normal. Basically, I'm burning this one hard, and will be using the next couple chapters as testbed for the next revival of voice transcription and dictation. If it works as I intend, I can grind out a whole chapter in less than 10 man-hours, which will make a huge difference in speed and deploy times.

Drakensis: And, if you're tracking the listings below in the Crossover Elements section, you can see the list is growing and growing and growing :)

Thanks for the ideas! I will be adding a goodly portion of them to the list!

Damrhein: As I explained above, I am doing a fast-track burn on this story right now, then when I am done with the IPO here, I will probably return to normal processes.

HolyDragoon: Keeping one or more of the trains is certainly an option, but only for limited circumstances. The engines, though, are worth far more to Sigma than the trains, though.

WinBlades: To be perfectly honest, I expected your review three chapters ago. Kudos for speaking your mind on the issues you see; I value a hard critic moreso than the average FFN writer would value a hard review, and I love using the hard reviews for improvement…

I could respond to your review on a point-by-point basis, but after I read through it several times, there's one technical point in question that actually is an issue, and the rest is personal. The 'unrelated' (HA!) note at the end was the dead giveaway, but I'll get to that in the next para. The technical point you noted, nobody tried talking him out of it, I do realize ex post facto that is a bit of an issue. In reasonable expectation, the speech in the caboose needs to be corrected, I just need to work on how to correct that. And, in reasonable expectation, someone would try to talk him out of it. So, I think I'll have to go chop suey on that section and correct it sometime in the next couple weeks.

The rest of your review, especially the first paragraph and your blatantly related 'unrelated note' gives perfect echo to the bent of your review. I give you some points for subtlety, but the stinger there blew your stealth. Little bit of a note for you: if you were someone that bore arms with any frequency, you'd already know that the act of bearing arms in any given area does not draw the ire or ambushes of the unorganized militia. You might actually be thanked by some of them, without identifying themselves as militia, simply for not hiding your guns. Dealing with the unorganized militia is an unusual thing, amigo: they are all around you already. They're common men and women all around you, unseen, unheard, going about their daily lives, doing nothing spectacular or noteworthy. Read up on the term 'unorganized militia' and how it still exists in United States Federal Law. I'm reasonably sure you'd be surprised if you read the full Dick Act text and its amendments, and how it still applies to this day. PROTIP: Don't bother with the hamburger job that Wikipedia did on it. The Wikipedia Article doesn't properly cover the actual existence or circumstances of call-up of the Unorganized Militia.

On the overarching premise of 'Hess does something so illogical it is a game breaker', well, guess what: there are quite a few people that hard in America. Some people find solutions to problems where others simply run in fear. Chances are, you might not know anybody that hard. They're a rare breed, and they don't always display that tendency of being hard until it is needed. That said, there tends to be a serious shortage of hard peeps per capita in urban and suburban areas, but that number tends to grow exponentially in states like Texas, Arizona, anything south of the Mason-Dixon Line and east of the Mississippi can be considered high on that list, and Appalachia is absolutely chock full of get-it-done hardasses. Incidentally, Appalachia covers a goodly portion of Kentucky, so…

Shortly stated, you may see someone over the top hardass. I see a review written by someone who hasn't met very many hardasses in their life. I say this as no insult to you, and I do thank you for the review. I just think you're coming at this from the wrong perspective, sans the technical issue you pointed out. I'll leave it at that for the day.

* * *

**The Gripe Sheet**:

The one gripe session has been rebutted above (**Winblades'** review), and the technical issue I will correct in the near future. As always, thanks to **Takeshi Yamato** and **Sieben Nightwing** for the during-ops coverage, and to **Necroblade** for the final edit.

* * *

**Footnotes**:

(1): **I**ntegrated **H**elmet **A**cquisition and **D**ata **S**ystem, basically a monocle targeting system that follows the gunner's viewpoint.

(2): **T**ime **T**o **L**ive —

(3): **Black Eagle Conventional Fighter**: Negaverse Conventional Aircraft (atmosphere only), 100 tons, heavy fuel tank, 3 LRM 5s, 2 Gauss Rifles, 2 ER Medium Lasers, 4 machine guns. Turbine powered, cost 2.87 million C-bills per unit. These units were designed as a cheap, mass-production foil to the Magi's vaunted and very frightening Fireball Aerofighters, with the intent of filling the skies with swarms of these fighters to counter the same-mass Fireballs by the numbers. The initial plan failed: the Magi, rather than dogfight the Negaverse in an obvious game of attrition, simply used artillery or naval suborbital bombardment to destroy them on the ground and thus render the skies safe for their own fighters. After the Star Empire Wars, the Star League took up production of the Black Eagle for the SLDF as a multipurpose fighter.

* * *

**Crossover Elements (Running total for this story)**:

—IRL Weapons  
—IRL Tactics

—Personal Works: The Star League of House Serenity  
—Personal Works: The Multimage Star Empire  
—Personal Works: Gerald Lightbringer is more notable in the Jokers Wild series of stories, but he's been around the block a few times (Appeared in chapter 3)…  
—Personal Works: The nonhuman concepts of Dragons and Phoenix are based on the Dungeons And Dragons (1st Edition) Dragon listings. That said, the versions I use here are wildly different, and have special spellcraft to change form to a human form for general clandestine movement around society.

—Battletech: Kanazuchi Assault Armor (Appeared in chapter 1)  
—Battletech: Interstellar mercenaries get an upgrade in this story to interdimensional.  
—Battletech: The Apache IIM R3 (AH-364A) is a custom Battletech-legal unit, though only of limited utility unless you allow external stores on Helos.  
—Battletech: The Light Horse Infantry Transport is a custom mixed-tech Helo unit used to transport infantry points quickly, or occasionally for hauling standard freight 5 tons lift capacity. Armed only with 3 AP Gauss Rifles, one forward, one left, and one right.

—Call Of Duty (Original): Captain Foley's paras are in it.

—Command And Conquer: Sancia still has that GDI assault rifle. Thanks to HolyDragoon for pointing out the official name!

—Final Fantasy Series: Blizzard spell used by Tyee.  
—Final Fantasy VII / Yorioden Samurai Troopers: The Tigers that were mentioned in this chapter, and will be seen clearly in the next chapter, are a composite of Red XIII and White Blaze from YST. Officially, they are a sentient Tiger species of high intelligence and significant cunning, but fall under the 'nonhuman' umbrella that makes them at best tolerated outside certain circles, and more often than not hunted by unsavory persons.  
—Final Fantasy IX: Madain Sari civilians were killed by Kuja in the game, but in this case they were shanghaied, then rescued by Rangers from theKorean War, and now are on Terra 232.  
—Final Fantasy Tactics: The Hokuten and Nanten get honorable mention in this chapter, but you can probably guess Sigma is going to be 'ionterfering' in the War of the Lions soon enough (Referenced in Chapter 3)...

—Movie: SWAT (2003 / Colin Farrell, Samuel L. Jackson, LL Cool J): 70-David Team is the main SWAT Team from the movie in question.


End file.
